Perennial
by Anonymous033
Summary: "If I have but one regret, it would be not spending more time with you." / AU; a story where Rick and Kate meet in college and go on the journey of their lives. High T for the mention of adult topics; multi-chapter.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Castle. _I'm talking about the merchandise, by the way. It's a given that I don't own the show.

**Spoilers: **General bits of _Castle. _Since this is an AU, there's no telling when or in what form spoilers might appear, but they're generally limited to the first two seasons.

**Setting: **College, in a current or minimally outdated setting. It's winter and it's Stanford University, California.

I'm well-aware that I may be shooting my own self in the foot, by writing a college AU so soon into my Castle fic-writing career. This idea slammed into me with the force of a truck, though, and I hope that you give it a chance. My other AUs generally receive an _okay _response, so it might be better than you think?

Thank you!

_**-Soph**_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

The dropping of a backpack onto the seat next to her made her grunt with surprise; when its appearance was followed by a bustling, obnoxious presence, Katherine Beckett rolled her eyes. Only _he _would find her in some obscure corner of a crowded cafeteria even with her head buried in a book.

"Beckett," Rick greeted, plopping down beside her. When she purposefully failed to shift and make more space for him to sit, he nudged his elbow into her side with a whine. "Scootch!"

Reluctantly, she did. "Rodgers," she acknowledged him, slapping his hand away from the small bowl of M&Ms that sat before her book. "Why are you here?"

He gestured around the cafeteria. "There's no place to sit."

She rolled her eyes again before returning her eyes to her book. "So, you decided to bug me?"

"You're _familiar,_" Rick explained with pseudo-patience. "I decided to bug someone familiar."

"Aren't you familiar with more people?" she asked dryly. "I'm sure with your loud presence—"

"Do _not _finish that sentence," he warned, before promptly dropping the topic. "Watchu reading?"

She startled at the crunch of his teeth; somehow, without her noticing, he had managed to pilfer one of her M&Ms. He smiled innocently at her glare. "Book," she answered shortly.

"Watsit about?" he asked, undeterred.

"Words."

"A book about words? Does it have—"

"_Rodgers._"

"I'm _bored,_" he groaned. "Talk to me."

She sighed. "Why would you look for _me of all people _when you know that I'm reading and you want to talk?"

"Because you're _always _reading," he insisted adamantly. "Besides, I don't know anyone else here. I told you that already."

"Fine." With a scowl, she slammed her book shut and shoved her book away, almost knocking her bowl of M&Ms off the table (he rescued it for her). She knew she was not going to get anymore studying done—not while he was there. "What d'you want to talk about?"

He sucked in a huge, dramatic breath. "My assignment," he announced, "which is—and cue drumroll—_Someone Who Influences Me. _Not in those exact words, but that's the gist of it."

Finishing with a flourish, he stared expectantly at her. She blinked uncomprehendingly at him. He promptly deflated.

"C'mon," he cajoled, "no comment? I give you an assignment that sounds like it's from _high school, _and you have no comment?"

"It sounds like it's from elementary school, actually."

Rick spluttered. "Well—I—That's the _point. _Why do they give us such assignments, anyway? Why not ask us to do in-depth analyses of a character from a novel—an award-winning novel? Ooh, or even a comic-book character—I'd do that gladly. But _someone who influences me? _What does that even have to do with literature?"

Kate shrugged.

"Who would I write about, anyway?" Rick continued, not stopped by her obvious disinterest.

"Your mom?" she offered. Rick winced.

"Okay, Martha Rodgers is … a character, I'll give you that. But not the character I want."

"No?"

"No." He did not elaborate.

She did not ask.

"Well, I s'pose you're just gonna have to look somewhere else, then," she said unsympathetically, pulling her book towards herself and prying it open once more. "Good luck."

Rick was silent. Kate took that to mean that the conversation was dismissed; flipping through the pages until she found the one that she had been on, she popped an M&M into her mouth and continued reading.

For a while, she thought that he was going to stand up.

For a while, she thought that he was going to pick up his backpack and finally leave her alone.

After a while, she was proven to be wrong.

Her left arm reaching up to cross over her left shoulder, she clamped her hand around his face to push it back from where it had been hovering.

"Richard," she said in irritation, turning to him. His face was still squished into the expression her unmerciful fingers had left it in.

"Kate," he protested.

"_Is there something else you need?_"

"I want to write 'bout you."

"What?" she barked incredulously. "You want to _what _about me?"

"Write about you," he persisted. "I want to write about you for my assignment."

"As someone who influences you?" she asked sarcastically. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. You seem influential."

"I _seem _influential?" She casted her eyes skywards. "Wow, you're _really _selling this idea, aren't you?"

For some reason, Rick perked up beside her. "Does that mean you're into buying it?"

"No!"

"Why not? I'll make you look good, I promise."

She laughed shortly. "Excuse me if I don't trust myself at the hand of your literary skills."

"Am I really that bad a writer?"

Kate was strongly tempted to brush him off with a blunt remark about his hardly being William Shakespeare. When she opened her mouth, however, his eyes flickered for a moment—not slowly enough for her to truly grasp the nature of his expression, but not quickly enough to escape her notice either. With sudden clarity, she came to the realization that her throwaway comment would not be quite as much of a joke to him as it would be to her. Sighing in resignation, she dropped defensive shoulders and pressed up closer to him.

"Rick," she began softly. "I'm … not a good person to write about."

"I think you are," Rick said stubbornly.

"You don't really know me."

"I could," he pointed out. "I know we haven't known each other for long, but I like you, and you seem like a good person."

"Yes, but we don't even have anything in common. There's no way I could have influenced you."

"It's just an assignment." He lifted his shoulders and dropped them. "It doesn't have to be real."

She felt a pang in her heart at that. "Then why not make somebody up?" she asked, turning away from him and looking across the length of the cafeteria.

"I…" he stuttered. "I don't know. Maybe I need somebody real to inspire me."

She smiled wanly. "So, what: Part-fiction, part-truth?"

"Yeah."

She wanted to. (She really wanted to.) That was the reason she had not wholly dismissed him yet. It was flattering, picturing herself immortalized if only on the pages of a college assignment—but she was no heroine. She was not anybody's main character. Ever since her mother's death when Kate was nine, Kate herself had only ever played an auxiliary role in others' lives; to have Rick Rodgers create a story—embellished by the far reaches of his fantasy—about her as an influential model would make him not only a liar, but a pitiable fool.

So, she shook her head. "I'm not someone to be morphed into a caricature of the heroine in your head."

He looked startled by that. "But Kate—"

"No," she said firmly. "Find a real hero, Rick. That's how you know you've gotten it right."

She did not elaborate.

He did not ask.

And that was that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The Florence Moore Hall at Stanford University was a seven-building student residence wrapped around a central servery; its large common areas encouraged socialization, allowing its more outgoing students to mingle together and form lasting friendships.

The Florence Moore Hall also had a large courtyard. It was there, meandering amongst the trees alone, that Kate literally walked into a jubilant Rick.

The impact sent her staggering backwards; Rick yelped in dismay and caught hold of her, apologising profusely. Embarrassed by her rather unsightly flail of limbs, she brushed off both imaginary dust and his _I'm sorry_s in favour of eyeing him suspiciously.

"You were waiting for me, weren't you?" she snapped.

His returning grin was, of course, altogether too innocent. "What makes you think that?"

"Maybe the look on your face," she answered shortly. "Or the fact that you've been hiding behind that tree ever since I turned my back three minutes ago."

"Ooh, observant," he murmured vaguely. "I need to add that to the list."

"What?"

"I got the list!" He flapped his arm happily, causing the piece of paper he held to flutter back and forth in the wind. With a huff, she snatched it from his hand.

"Pretty," she read. "Studious. Mysterious. Rick, what the hell is this?"

"A list of your attributes!" he crowed proudly. "Keep reading."

"No! I'm not going to keep reading about—this—the—_why _are you writing about _me?_" she wailed.

"I told you—"

"And I said 'no'." Growling loudly, she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. "I had _reasons _for saying 'no'."

"Do tell," he invited, still bouncing with cheerfulness.

"They're none of your business," she retorted. "God, why are you so insistent?"

"Because you're really interesting."

The abrupt quietness to his voice made her drop her hand in surprise; when she finally met his eyes, what she found in them took her aback even more—they were intense; vibrant with energy. She did not think she had ever seen anybody _look _at her like that before.

"I like interesting," he said.

She sucked in a breath. "Be that as it may, you can't just write about me if I say 'no'. That's not the way things work, Rick."

"I know." He took a single step forwards, his palms rubbing against the fabric of his pants; for the first time since she had known him, he almost appeared nervous. "I—I know, and that's why I didn't go any further than this list; but Kate, I'm asking now. _Please._"

She gnawed on her lip. "Don't you have anyone else to write about?"

"I do. Of course I do. But I don't want them—I want you."

"_Why? _I'm not even…. I barely know you, Rick. It's not like we've been best friends forever. I meet you at a bus stop, and a mutual friend introduces us, and suddenly I'm muse material?"

"I don't—We didn't have the chance to meet before. That's all." He swallowed hard. "Except I'm thinking you're something special because the first time we meet, you start talking about comic book characters, and … I-I've—I've never really had someone I can talk to as an equal. Lanie's … nice an' all, but the only reason we talk is because she's taken a liking to 'Writer Boy and his exuberant personality'. You … you talk about coffee with me. You talk about NYC—our shared _hometown_—with me. You talk about _magic _with me. You talk about languages—that's hot, by the way—with me, and saying we don't have anything in common is a lie, because I haven't met anyone with _more _in common with me. And I know you don't see things that way, but please: I just need someone to write about, and I can't think of anyone better than you."

Kate thought she might be gaping. Mindlessly, she closed her mouth again, before mulling over his words. They were earnest. He looked earnest. But—

—But there were no _but_s, really. Rick was a good person. Even from their relatively limited interactions, she could tell that. Her own reservations were the only thing stopping her and, at that moment, staring into his pleading eyes, she could not help but to wonder if her reservations were unneeded. It was not as if she thought she made a good story, but she was not Rick's keeper—if he were to insist on penning her, there would be no need for her to censor him beyond what might be dangerous to her own privacy and wellbeing. Even taking that into account, she trusted Rick enough to know that he would never deliberately put her in harm's way. She just hoped he would not be sabotaging his own grade by taking on a topic so overwhelmingly dull and insipid.

"On one condition," she finally said. "Two conditions, actually. One, you do not put down my name. Two, you do not put anything personal about me in it."

"But—" he started.

"And believe me, I will check," she interrupted loudly. "I will be sitting beside you when you submit your assignment, and I will expect to read it before you submit it. If I find any evidence that you've been misusing the information I give you, then I will go to your professor: And do not doubt for a second that I can convince him to give you a failing grade. Remember, I am a—"

"—Pre-law student," he finished hastily. "I know, I know."

But he was still beaming so brightly.

"Good," she concluded, feeling adrenaline rush through her in a manner that was both terrifying and exhilarating. She beamed at him. "Now, shall we get started?"

He grinned, two full rows of teeth greeting her. "Can we play 20 Questions?" he asked her excitedly. "_Ooh, _does that mean we can play 20 Questions?"

* * *

**A/N: **There we go—a bit of lightness! Enjoy it. It won't be long before the tide turns.

To those who reviewed the previous chapter: I'm so sorry that I haven't gotten to replying yet; when I'm writing, I get pretty caught up in the spiral. I'll get to them at the soonest possible instance—quite possibly tomorrow, if my guilt doth dictate the way.

Thank you for reading! Please review on your way out!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"So, here's what I can't figure out," he said, settling beside her onto the bench. The air that swirled through the courtyard was breezy; above them, leaves danced in the wind, casting moving patterns across his figure and the flat surface of the table they were seated before. Kate spread her hands across the table top, thumbs curling the edges of the piece of paper on which her 'attributes' were listed, and awaited his questioning.

"What's your backstory?" he asked.

Kate choked on her saliva a little bit, caught off-guard by his bluntness. "Excuse me?"

"Your backstory," Rick prompted. "Y'know, like 'Comes from Brooklyn; speaks fifteen languages; mother a housewife and father a successful doctor. A brood of young siblings and a house that's mortgaged to the hilt. Modelled once to make money.'"

"Ex_cuse _me?" she said once again, more affronted this time. "'I what, now?"

"It's just an example," he said hastily. "I don't actually think you have a father who's a successful doctor."

"Of all the scandalous things you could have chosen," she grumbled. "But you would be right. My father's not a doctor."

"So, what is he?" Rick questioned.

"A lawyer."

"Ahhh…" Rick gasped dramatically. "You're following in his footsteps, then?"

"No." She did not elaborate.

"… Mother's footsteps?"

"Somethin' like that."

"You're really not very forthcoming, are you?" Rick asked. It was clear he was amused—his lips twitched at the corners—but Kate chose to take the question at face value, shrugging instead.

"I'm not an easy person. To get to know, I mean."

"I don't think you're easy either way," her companion snickered. "Tell me somethin'."

"Yeah?"

"Did you ever think you'd be here, growing up? Did you ever think 'Pre-Law at Stanford—that's where I'll go'?"

She pondered that. "I guess so," she answered casually. "I wanted—I wanted to be my mother. She was … the most amazing—"

"'Was'?"

"Yeah," Kate replied quietly. "She died. A decade ago."

"I'm sorry."

Kate rolled a shoulder. "It was a long time ago. But … her memory … drives me. Makes me want to be … a better lawyer. Better than myself, I mean. Not better than her—no one could be better than her."

"She was _your _inspiration."

"She was." Kate smiled grimly at him. "Maybe you should write about _her, _huh?"

"Eh," he replied noncommittally. "I'd be missing out on her greatest legacy then."

Kate pressed her lips together and swallowed; blinked rapidly as Rick tugged his paper out of her grip and started to scribble on it.

"Did you ever have any other ambitions?" he asked.

"Uh…" She cleared her throat. "I wanted to be a butcher once."

He did a double-take. "Really?"

"Fleeting fancy." She made a face. "I think I just liked the knives."

"Are you sure one of your ambitions wasn't 'serial killer'?" His voice wavered.

She shot him the creepiest grin she could muster. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

His gulp was visible—his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "Moving on. Mmm … ah, most embarrassing experience."

"Uh…" She laughed. "I was fifteen. I had a boyfriend—his name was Chuck—and he had a bike. Let's just say, my father disapproved. Of course, that made me want Chuck even more. So, I went and got a leather skirt, a helmet, the whole nine yards; and we went on a cross-country trip. We went as far as—get this—_Maryland _before something attracted Chuck's attention. You see, it turned out that the only thing Chuck loved more than me and the bike was _other women. _Serena was the winner of the day: She was dirty-blonde and had big … y'know, teeth … and Chuck ditched poor ol' me at a diner so he could take _Serena _on a cross-country ride. I took a bus home."

"Wow," Rick commented, wide-eyed. "How mad was your dad?"

"Apoplectic," she replied crisply. "Raging mad. He grounded me for a month and made me watch as he stuffed the leather skirt down the garbage chute. I cried."

"Nice leather skirt?"

"I bought it with my own money!"

"Ahhh."

"But, y'know, I stopped acting out after that. It just wasn't in my heart, anyway."

"Oh?" he questioned.

"Yeah." She lowered her eyes, studying her palms as she laced her fingers together and turned her empty hands upwards. "I wanted to make my dad mad. Things were … hard, after my mom died, and I held a grudge against him for that. So, I acted out. But then I was in Maryland, and I was scared, and I wanted my mom; failing that, I wanted my dad: But I had neither, because my mom was dead and I had run as far away from my dad as I dared to. It's so hard being angry when you have nothing to be angry at."

"So, you went home."

"I did. And—that's not to say I forgave my dad, but … I guess I just withdrew in an entirely different way."

"Which is how?"

She chuckled wryly. "Which is me, present day."

He took some time to process that—she could see the second in clicked in him: Her demeanour, the way she held herself aloof and with her head always in a book. Kate Beckett was alone by choice. She was well-aware of that. The only person since high school who had managed to worm their way into Kate's life was Lanie Parish and, by extension, Richard Rodgers. But Rick hardly counted—whatever he knew was already considered by Kate to be common knowledge, because Lanie already knew. And Lanie? Well, Lanie was just too nosy to keep out.

Kate was brought back to the present by the sound of a pencil scratching against paper. She canted her body towards his, but Rick had covered whatever he had written with a cupped palm, shielding his words from her. He was undisturbed by her scowl.

"Favourite colour?" he asked.

"Is that really necessary?" she protested.

"No, but I'm curious."

"Fine. Blue."

And then he was back to frantic scrawling and ignoring her.

When he finished at long last, he dropped the pencil tiredly and pushed the paper over to her. She gave a cursory glance over the single paragraph he had written—only to freeze at the very top of the block of writing.

"_Nikki Heat?_" she shrieked.

* * *

**A/N: **A light chapter :) appreciate it. The lightness will not last long.

And review, please?

**-_Soph_**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"So. You and Writer Boy been spendin' a lot of time together."

A warm arm looped around Kate's, wrapping itself snugly against her; Kate looked to her side to see Lanie Parish, medical-examiner-to-be and her best friend, smiling with overflowing smugness.

"Remy's?" Lanie suggested, tugging Kate along down the sidewalk without her acquiescence.

It was Wednesday evening—the time of the week slotted for their Girls' Night. Though both under-aged and, thus, not allowed into bars wherein only alcohol was served, neither of them let that hamper their fun. Girls' Nights consisted of dinners at Remy's—a popular haunt of college students—and then hunkering down at Lanie's with rom-coms and nail polish. It was the time Kate truly let her hair down.

Lanie was a rare gem; one of the only few people that Kate felt emotionally close to. She had met the free, sassy spirit during a class they shared—Introduction to Forensic Pathology —and Lanie had found her immediately, claiming a seat beside her without reserve and marking both chairs as their spots for the rest of the term. Kate still did not know, to this day, what about her had attracted Lanie's attention. She would not complain, though. Girls' Nights with Lanie were the best moments of her college life.

They tripped into the diner now, occupying their usual booth and pushing away the menus on the table in favour of calling out across the diner to Dave, their favourite server. Dave arrived promptly and took their orders, inserting his customary pick-up line into his conversation with Lanie before slipping off with his trusty notepad. The routine of ordering finally out of the way, Lanie turned back to Kate.

"So, girl, spill."

Kate swore that her cheeks warmed against her will. Despite that, she said, "There's nothing to spill, Lanie."

"Bullshit," Lanie replied bluntly. "Writer Boy finally got the guts to ask you out?"

"W-wha-?" Kate stammered. "No, no. He just needs me for an assignment."

"_Ooh._" Lanie leant forwards. "What assignment is that?"

"Apparently, he has to write a paper about someone who influences him. He … didn't know who to write about, so he somehow latched on to the idea that _I'd _make a good fictional role—" Kate stopped at Lanie's raised eyebrows. "What?"

"That what he told you?" Lanie pressed, askance.

"Y-Yeah." Kate rubbed the side of her neck, made self-conscious by Lanie's obvious scepticism. "Why? I—I told him I wouldn't make a good role model, but—"

"Kate, it's not that."

"Then what is it? Do you think he's sabotaging his own grade? 'Cause he needs to know—"

Lanie chuckled loudly at that, slumping back into the booth to eye Kate. "I'd be surprised if he _had _a grade."

"What?" Kate blurted, flummoxed. "What does that mean?"

"Kate—" Lanie started, only to be interrupted by the arrival of their fries and milkshakes (chocolate for herself; strawberry for Kate). She batted her eyelashes at Dave in thanks before continuing, "Kate, an assignment about influential people? It's all a bit too convenient, dontcha think?"

"Convenient?" Kate repeated numbly.

"Yeah, like a moneylender with an offer you can't refuse _just _when you're hard up for cash. Con_ve_nient."

"But … it can't possibly be convenient. I mean, God, Lanie, he's had to interview me. That can't possibly be convenient," she mumbled.

"Kate—he's had the hots for you ever since he met you," Lanie stated. "He wanted your number; I told him he had to get it from you himself."

"He didn't ask for it."

"It's only a matter of time before he does," Lanie posited. "Between you and me, though? You should say 'yes' when he asks you out. Or maybe ask him out yourself. God knows you don't get enough action."

"Lanie!"

"What? It's the time of sexual liberation, baby. Jump on-board; enjoy the messiness of teenaged sex."

"Are you_ listening _to yourself?"

"Kate, Kate, Kate," Lanie clucked, shaking her head. "You don't wanna have sex? That's all good an' fine. But you're lonely—don't even try to deny that. You need someone to hang around; bring you coffee, maybe rub your shoulders a bit, keep you company through all hours of the night as you inhale those law books you're always seen around."

"But—but—we weren't even talking about that!" Kate huffed. She raised a hand to stop Lanie's retort. "You know what? I don't want to talk about _any _of it at all. Let's just eat."

Lanie fell silent, clearly sensing that Kate was not in the mood. The meal was tensed and over quickly, and the girls parted ways on the sidewalk in front of the diner for the first time since Girls' Night was established; Kate walked alone back to her dormitory, wanting to brood over her friend's words.

Over the nigh two weeks since Rick had started following her, she had sensed a change in their relationship. They had been casual friends to begin with; though not unfamiliar with each other to the point of being mere acquaintances, they had also not spent more time with each other than could have been dictated by entirely coincidental on-campus meetings. Now, Rick and Kate spent all of their free time together. It had not been about his assignment all of the time, and she knew that, but she had never questioned it until now. Did he really have romantic intentions towards her? Was that why he hung around so much?

Truthfully, that changed things for her. Kate did not do romantic relationships. Chuck had been her last serious boyfriend; a couple of casual dates aside, Kate had not been with anyone since. Her admittance into university, too, focused her attention solely on her chosen field of study—socializing was good, her high-school counsellors had all said, but they had never had anything that they needed to work towards with a burning passion. Being a Pre-Law student meant that Kate was well on her way to being District Attorney, and she would not give up that dream easily. She needed it—craved it as closure for her mother's death—and Rick could only get in the way of that.

And then, there was simply the fact that Rick had lied to her. Kate gave up her heart with even greater difficulty than she gave up her time, yet Rick had somehow managed to find a way in. She was not so naïve as to say that the presence of Rick had no impact on her: Over the past week-and-a-half, she had suddenly found herself smiling more; laughing more, and permitting herself to be charmed by his boyish humour. Except—empty it all felt now, because the effort he had put into getting to know her could not surpass the reservations she had had to push away in order to fulfil her pledge to assist him in his assignment. She had thought it was for a good cause….

But in the end, what if she was nothing more to him than just a pretty face?

* * *

**Dun dun! Dramatic.**

**A/N: **I only learnt a few days ago, to my chagrin, that FFN does not allow question marks before quotation marks in summaries. How horrifying! Of all punctuation...

**A/N 2: **I have a question to pose to all of you—I've written quite a bit by now (up to Chapter 17, in fact) but am coming to realize that it's gotten quite long, and in a manner that's only marginally related to the original premise (that is, Rick's handed in the assignment, and they've moved on to other things now). My question is, should I stop at the fic's natural end, which is in three chapters but extremely angsty, or continue with the different arc (which is long) to try and see if I can get Rick and Kate to a better place?


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"It's been a lie, hasn't it?"

The obvious sadness to her voice made Kate herself cringe; she never thought she would ever render Rick speechless, but she did in that moment. The boy stopped his babbling monologue mid-sentence at her question, and stared at her with confused and worried eyes that made her heart lurch painfully.

"What?" he asked. "What do you mean?"

"Your assignment. It's a lie," she stated.

"A—A lie?" he stammered. "What—no. I haven't been writing your name or anything personal about you that you said I couldn't, I promise. I can show you if—"

"Not _that."_ Kate screwed her eyes shut, gritting her teeth. "You don't even _have _this assignment in the first place."

"Of course I do." His tone was bewildered, perhaps rightly so—she had brought up the topic completely out of the blue.

"Lanie said—Lanie said…" she trailed off, wondering how she could possibly voice her thoughts.

"What did Lanie say?" He sounded wary now.

"Nothing," she sighed.

"No, Kate. Tell me."

"It's nothing, okay?" She rubbed her palms against her thighs. "She just said it was a bit too _convenient,_ this assignment. It had come at a time when you were … interested in more."

"What does that _mean?_" he pressed.

"She implied," Kate spat out, "that you made up this assignment to get to know me."

Rick paused. "Why would I even need to make up an assignment in order to get to know you?"

Kate growled at his still-befuddled tone. "Because you didn't think I'd talk to you otherwise," she theorized impatiently. His confusion was making her feel foolish and nit-picky, like someone with too much time on her hands and nothing to do but to create scandals. "I don't know. All Lanie said was that you'd once asked for my number, and she'd said you had to get it from me yourself—but I doubt I would have given it to you just like that, so who knows whether you had concocted a hare-brained scheme to get it?"

There was a pregnant silence.

Kate thought she could hear the pieces clicking into place one by one in his head. She wondered, for a long moment, what he would do—whether he would laugh at her, call her an idiot for ever having fallen for his trickery; or walk away, call her presumptuous for ever thinking he could be interested in her; or, worst of all, consider her a twisted narcissist, so full of herself that she would believe others to make up elaborate plans just to get close to her.

It surprised her that his voice was calm when he spoke up beside her.

"I don't deny that I'm interested in you," he started cautiously, "but I also won't deny that I haven't been lying to you—because I _haven't, _Kate. I could show you proof if you wanted. Hell, I could even bring you to my professor and let you question him."

"Oh, she said softly. Her neck itched. She felt the beginnings of embarrassment burning at her cheeks.

"But what worries me most," he continued, "is your reaction towards spending time with me outside of the assignment."

Kate kept her mouth shut.

"Is spending time with me really that bad?" he prompted kindly. "Because this was never supposed to be hard for you—not even for a stupid paper. I could always have found someone else; I just didn't want to. The question now, I guess, is whether _you _want me to."

"No." The immediate, slightly insistent reply startled them both. She clapped a hand over her mouth, reflexively, before dropping it and telling him, "No, Rick. I—I just didn't want it to be about a lie."

"It's not."

"Then that's good."

"But it bugs you—that I could be interested in you. That I could find ways to be close to you?"

The end of his statement was raised, as if it were a question she had to either confirm or negate; it made Kate look away as she explained.

"I'm the kind of girl boys find attractive," she divulged flatly. "It's the eyes. Probably the hair, a little. Definitely the stature—I've been subjected to more than one wolf whistle. So, boys think they want to know me. But they don't—not when they learn what it's like to be with a girl so damaged, she sucks everything and everyone down into a vortex with her like she's a Black Hole. I _told _you from the beginning, I'm not who you're looking for. I'm not that superhero image you have in your mind. But you keep coming back, and eventually you're gonna realize that I was _right _to begin with. I don't _need _to be with someone. I don't _want _that. I'm selfish and I'm ambitious and I have sharp edges, and I'm not somebody that anybody should want to be with or even put on a goddamn pedestal."

"Except you're on mine." His voice was earnest.

It made her fight her tears back as she parried fiercely, "And you're just deluding yourself."

"No. Listen," he said seriously, grabbing her hand. "Kate, look at me."

"No!"

"Fine, don't look at me." He was unperturbed. "But listen to what I have to say. You think that if you hold yourself apart, then you'll save yourself and everyone else from a world of hurt. Am I right?"

She bit her lip. Nodded reluctantly.

"Except you were right about one thing," he continued, "you suck everyone in like bees to honey. And that's not a bad thing, Kate. Black Holes have no bottom, but whirlwinds do. And do you know what else whirlwinds have? The ability to lift things up—up—to greater heights than they've ever been."

"Until the whirlwind ends."

He cringed so hard she could see it from the corner of her eye. "Okay, so maybe I didn't think this analogy through," he admitted sheepishly, "but I stand by it. Because you can't control the attraction, Kate, but—unlike with whirlwinds—you sure as hell can control the direction."

She sneaked a quick look at him. "What does that mean?"

"It means you have a say in whether I walk away or not," he answered sombrely, "_if _we decide to give this a go—if _you _think you might chance a relationship with me. If—I mean, we're college students—things don't last long, usually—but that's not to say we won't—and that's not to say you'll be stuck with me forever—wait, am I messing this up?"

She snuffled out a teary giggle at his ramble and squeezed his hand in comfort. "Keep going."

He took a deep breath. "_If … _we do end up together, but we somehow break up: I promise it's not going to be because I bored of you or I found you too much to handle. Because, Kate, I find you pretty special—despite, or regardless of, or because of; whichever conjunction you prefer—whatever you've told me so far."

She blinked several times, taking shallow breaths through her nose as she tried to process his words. It was all a bit too overwhelming. She had spent the last three years convincing herself that there was nothing about her which would ever warrant the genuine attention of the opposite gender again; how did she reconcile that with what Rick was saying? What if he was lying, still? What if there was nothing special about her but that she desperately sought for others to pay heed to her? What if—

The gentle brush of his hand against the hairline at her temple made her turn reflexively to him, her reverie broken, and he gave her a small smile. "Don't overthink it," he advised. "I'm not trying to scare you, Kate. It doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to."

"I…" she stumbled. "I … want it to mean something."

He nodded. She thought she saw his shoulders relax as he concluded, "Then I think we're on the same page."

"Are we?" she asked. "I'm—I'm damaged in ways you can't imagine, Rick. And just because I _want _something doesn't mean I should get it."

"Doesn't mean you shouldn't," he rebutted.

"I don't know how to be in a relationship," she protested agitatedly. "I don't know how to deserve a good thing."

"You just need," he murmured patiently, his breath caressing her skin lightly, "calm, steady trust in yourself that you deserve a life you can live to your fullest."

She swallowed the hard lump in her throat. "Not right now," she answered definitively. "Just, not right now. Someday. But I can't do this right now."

"Then when?" he asked.

"When … I have everything in place," she said. "When I'm—I'm stable in my career, and I have the space to grow, _with _someone. When I know … how to deal with things."

"That'll be a few years yet." His voice gave out a bit, she thought; he was clearly stunned by her conditions. (All the better.)

"Yeah," she said with finality. "It's something that we will talk about only in a few years' time. That's where I stand. Take it or leave it."

He was quiet. She pressed her lips together; stood up from the table in the courtyard at which they were seated, and steeled her resolve so she could look into his eyes. "I gotta go," she said firmly in the face of his gobsmacked expression. "It's been nice knowing you, Rick. I'm going to assume that this is pretty much the end of our liaison, so I'll bid you goodbye here. I hope your assignment goes well."

And then, she was off.

He would not follow, she knew. No one ever did—not once the hefty price of her companionship was stated. She did not expect anyone to, either; after all, she was naught but a few steps up from Little Orphan Annie.

But that was okay for her.

The path she was traversing?

She had practically carved it herself into a lonely road.

* * *

**A/N: **I have decided to continue with the longer version of this story :) thus, it would be prudent of me to forewarn that the assignment isn't the main point of the story; neither is the plot line that follows it, for that matter. I am simply using them as devices to create a backdrop where Rick and Kate's relationship can be explored. Perhaps that would make me a bad novelist, but I am thankfully not one. Still, I hope you will enjoy where I take them!

**-_Soph_**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

To say she was astonished when Rick reappeared, not two days later, at his customary spot beside her under the big tree in the courtyard would be a huge understatement.

"I can be friends," he said by way of explanation. "We'll just be friends and see how that goes."

And that was found they found themselves _just friends, _and only _friends, _for the next eight months until the next twist in the plot arrived: Her name was Jacinda, she did Communication, and she _most definitely _had big … teeth.

-.-.-.-.-

Kate was studying alone in one of the dining halls when she was first made aware of Jacinda's existence.

The entrance of the slim young woman was certainly memorable, by way of a loud, tinkling laugh that had floated across the hall at the right moment and broken Kate's concentration from her studying. She had looked up from her book then; and perceived, with stunned shock, the blonde hanging on to Rick's arm.

Rick and Kate had never been more than friends. Immediately after the submission of his assignment (Kate-edited and –approved, with the name of his main character changed reluctantly by him to Nicole Black) the previous term, Kate had worried that their frequent interaction would end, but her worries had proven to be without basis when he continued to insist on annoying her with his childlike clownishness. The quality of their friendship had started to improve in terms of emotional intimacy: Kate had found herself, sometimes with Lanie and sometimes without, to be spending increasing amounts of time with him off-campus. Their outings consisted of trips to the mall (he was remarkably blasé about having to do things like holding a ladies' handbag while Kate shopped for clothes), the cinema (where they would celebrate their mutual love for comic-book characters), and even the flea market (where he would insist on buying knick-knacks for his room). All subconsciously, Kate found herself enjoying life more, because Rick's rose-tinted view on life had managed to paint her dreary world in colours for her.

It was no surprise, then, that when she saw the girl she would later come to know as 'Jacinda' clinging to Rick, Kate felt entirely wrong-footed. It was true that Rick had not remotely touched upon anything regarding a romantic interest in her ever since that day, and Kate—relieved that he was no longer pursuing—had let the topic rest; but she had never thought about what it would mean the day he stopped directing the majority of his attentions towards her.

The thing was, Kate had always believed his attraction would last longer. She had always hoped they could last the distance, first as friends and then as … something more. She had always pictured graduating with her Bachelor's degree and then her Juris Doctor degree; passing her bar examination, and finally starting practice in district court—through it all, with Rick beside her in one capacity or other, celebrating the milestones with her. He never played more than the role of a friend in these fantasies, but she had always imagined that perhaps, when they had both established themselves in their respective careers as well as found job and financial stability, they could—

—But Kate knew, in that instant, how entirely foolish she had been. They were both college students—both first-term juniors, Rick at twenty-one and Kate at barely twenty. Kate had five more years to go before she could even qualify for a bar exam; Rick, a Comparative Literature major, would have finished with his degree and jetted off to some unknown part of the world with his knowledge and talent and charisma long before then. How could she even have hoped for Brilliance's wait?

So, she lowered her head now and stared down into her book, trying to forget the imprint of Jacinda's olive skin and mussed hair and simpering attachment to Rick, and accepted the simple truth.

She could never have competed—not with the uncomplicated passage of time.

-.-.-.-.-

"Hey."

The hand skimming lightly across her shoulders made her jumped. She looked up and found Rick beaming down at her. Though she was not in much of a mood to talk to him, she smiled regardless.

"Hey," she answered.

He seated himself beside her on the courtyard bench, facing outside and leaning his back against the table. "Watchu reading? Book?"

"Yup."

"About what? Words?"

"You're so smart."

He gave an amused grin. "You never do tell me what you're reading, do you?"

She chuckled and reached over to pat his cheek lightly. It was a habit she had developed by now, one she was not willing to shake. "I wouldn't want to hurt your pretty head with all the big law words, Ricky."

He pouted. "You _just _said I was smart."

"Compared to a kindergartner, Rick."

"Hey! I was at the top of the class, you know—"

"In preschool?" she asked teasingly.

He opened his mouth, ostensibly to defend himself, but then paused. "Yeah," he admitted grudgingly. "I hated grade school. I started going to boarding school in third grade, and lemme tell ya, it was no picnic."

"What happened?"

He shrugged. "Strict teachers, mostly. And a bit of bullying—I wasn't the bully, in case that needs to be made clear."

"Oh," she said sympathetically.

"No big deal," he grunted. "Anyway, I just wanted to ask you if we're still on for Tuesday."

"The…" She blinked in surprise, caught off-guard by him. "The poetry slam at San Jose?"

"Yeah," he answered carefully, staring at her. "Don't tell me you forgot."

"No." She felt her cheeks burning. "N-no, I just thought … you'd want to go with your girlfriend?"

"My girlfriend?" he parroted. "Jacinda?"

"Yeah, I guess so. She's blonde, about this height—" Kate made a vaguely indicative gesture, "—heck of a laugh. Saw you in the dining hall with her the other day."

"Yeah, that's Jacinda," Rick confirmed, nodding vigorously. "Except—"

"I thought you'd want to go with her."

"Yes, but—"

"You should go with her, Rick," Kate interrupted chidingly. "I don't want to step on anyone's toes."

"She's not my girlfriend, Kate."

"She's—not?" Kate paused, her eyes wide. "Who is she?"

"She's—" Rick started, but then stopped abruptly, his mouth still open. "Uh, she's uhm … hmm, y'know, I don't want to tell you. You'll never look at me the same way again."

"What?" Kate squeaked. "Why not?"

"Because! You're _judgemental, _Kate," Rick posited.

"I am not!"

"You are!" Rick shot back. "And are you going to the poetry slam or not?"

"Not until you admit I'm not judgemental."

"I won't, because you _are._"

"I am not."

"You _are._"

"You know what? Fine." She slammed her book shut furiously, standing up so fast that her vision darkened for a while. Refusing to let that stop her, she stepped away from her seat and stayed long enough only to throw over her shoulder, "Go to the poetry slam yourself; don't let me hold you back. My _judgement _might wither the fragile hearts of budding poets, so it's best you not take me anywhere. God forbid that I should rain shame upon you and Jacinda for criticizing others where I shouldn't have."

She walked off, leaving Rick to gape behind her.

It was not until she was safely in her room that she sank to the carpeted floor, her back against the wood of her door and her face in her palms, and permitted herself to sob over his abandonment of her which she had undoubtedly herself caused.

* * *

**A/N: Guysss … I know reviewing **is a hassle on the phone, and you don't know me well enough to _not _make it a hassle, but I'm honestly starting to feel like I'm toiling away at a fic no one cares about. So please, if you could review, I would appreciate it.

**-_Soph_**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"She's my friend-with-benefits."

Of all the things Kate Beckett expected Rick Rodgers to say, this was not one of them. He stood with one foot jammed into her room doorway: Sometime—it could have been a minute or an hour—after she had hidden herself away inside her room, a knock had prompted her to open the door. She regretted not checking beforehand who it was, for she was now nothing other than speechless.

She had expected him to say 'sister'. She had expected him to say 'distant cousin'. Hell, she had even expected him to say 'confused freshman whom I have taken under my wing'.

But friend-with-benefits?

Rick rolled his eyes, apparently interpreting her shock for disapproval. "I told you you didn't want to know," he reminded her. "But you had to go and storm off, and now we're in big trouble because you just learnt I'm not a virgin, and you don't know how to deal with that."

She twisted her lips a bit. "Uh…" she said weakly, before blurting the first thing that came to mind. "How did you come up here?"

"Roommate," he answered casually. "Or your apartment-mate; whichever you prefer. They're all really generous about helping a guy out."

"That's good for them," she answered absent-mindedly. Rick was probably more familiar with the students on her floor than she herself was. "I … Come in, I guess."

Turning away from the door, she let him permit himself inside. Though he had been to the floor her room was on and thus, knew both who her roommates were and where her room was located, he had never physically been _inside_ her room; she felt self-conscious upon spying the books that were stacked up against the far wall and at the foot of the bed.

"Wow," he muttered behind her, impressed. "It's like a library."

She shifted the books on her mattress nervously to the floor. "Sit down," she invited, gesturing at the bed. "I'm sorry the sheets are messy—I didn't have time to tidy them this morning."

He sat.

She dragged a chair over to him and sat with its back facing him, as if the hard wood kept them separated and could shield her from him. "I'm sorry I stormed off," she said softly.

His gaze radiated into her. "You're jealous."

She lowered her head so she could tuck her chin beneath the top of the chair. "I am," she admitted. "I am, of Jacinda."

"Why?" he pushed. "And now that you know who she is, are you still jealous?"

Kate clenched her fingers against thin air, capturing the indentations of her fingernails with the flesh of her palms in her bid not to cry. "I have no right to be jealous, Rick."

"That's not what I asked."

"What you asked is not something I can answer."

"You can never answer _anything,_" he snarled impatiently. "That's the problem."

"I'm sorry."

Rick let out a harsh grumble, screwing his eyes shut and pressing a fed-up hand to his brow. "Kate," he uttered, letting his hand fall and moving forwards on the bed to hold both of her tightly clenched fists. "Kate, I like you. I do. But I need to know if this is really going anywhere."

"You said," she began, "so many months ago—"

"I know what I said so many months ago," he cut in bluntly. "I know I said that I liked you and we could just be friends. But, right now? I've found a girl I like a little bit. And … we're not a _thing _yet, she and I, but if you don't want me to wait for you, or you think that maybe we'd be better off in our own worlds, then I need to do what's best for myself. It's been so many months, Kate. We're stuck. We're stuck and I wanted human company, so I did what I did. I know you don't think very much of what I'm doing, but you don't get to be jealous if _you _don't even want me. We're not in a relationship. What Jacinda and I do is perfectly legal and of mutually informed consent. There is _nothing _for you to worry about—unless you have your own vested interest, but _I don't know that, _because all I've gotten so far is an 'I might get together with you a few years into the future if I feel like it'. That's not enough for me to give up a girl whom I could be something with right now for. So, tell me: Am I giving her up for a good cause, or am I walking away from you for another cause?"

Kate just looked at him, stricken. _Don't walk away from me, _she wanted to say; _Give her up. I am worth fighting for. I will make every single fight for me worthwhile. _But she was not, and she could not. Not when she was too cowardly to even admit that she was falling in love with him, and that she was falling for him hard enough to sometimes even forget her ambitions when he was with her. She wanted to be _more _for him, but she how could she be? She had not been enough for her father after the death of her mother; she had not been enough for her high-school friends to stick around, and she certainly had not been enough for Chuck the Biker. Why would she be enough for someone like Rick?

Shaking her head numbly, she withdrew her trembling hands from Rick's palms. "You're right," she whispered. "You deserve … to have the life you want. I can't be that person for you; not right now. So, have fun with Jacinda, okay?"

"Kate," Rick said, looking pained.

"Not _fun _fun," she interrupted brusquely, "sounds kinda lewd when I say it that way. I mean, if you want to—but I didn't mean it like it was a bad thing, Rick. I know you think I judge you, but I don't. I've just done some things in high school that I'm not proud of, and I came out the other side the worse for wear, so I can't say I enjoyed the experience. But I wouldn't wish that on you. I hope you'll be happy. Jacinda seems a good fit for you."

Rick was quiet before he murmured sombrely, "Is this it?"

She bit her lip. Nodding, she replied, "This is it."

"Okay." Rick stood up, brushing his pants legs mindlessly. "Okay."

She caught hold of his hand urgently, pulling it close—pressed her forehead and her nose, inhaling his musky scent, to it; and then her lips, to graze his skin. That was it: _A goodbye _and _I'll miss you _and _thank you for everything _all in one. And then, the faintest brush of his fingers to her cheek later, he was walking away, and she was shutting her eyes to prevent the heat prickling them from spilling down to the very same spot he had touched.

That was it.

They had not really even been anything to begin with, but they were ending.

* * *

**A/N: Don't worry, **that's the end of the Rick/Kate angst ... for now. The direction of the story changes after this point, and though Rick and Kate's relationship starts to improve in bits and pieces from now on, I should probably tell you that it's brought on by a tragedy relating to a secondary character :P so, yeah.

To all of you who have reviewed, thank you! Don't worry—I'd once said I'd continue with the story, and I would no matter what; that doesn't mean, though, that a lack of reviews wouldn't bug me. I'm only human, after all. So, thank you for your encouragement and reassurance. I can honestly say that I never expected so many people were still reading the story.

_**-Soph**_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Kate threw herself into her studies after Rick left.

She did not realize, until days later, just how much her studies had fallen to the wayside ever since she started hanging out with Rick. She vowed to herself that she would compensate for it, and gave up going out—even on Girls' Nights with Lanie—in favour of catching up with her studies. Lanie worried about the changes in her, Kate knew. But the Pre-Law student could not find the words to express the emptiness she felt, so she did not try.

She did go to the poetry slam that had precipitated everything, though.

She tried to convince herself that she saw Rick there, but then the silhouette had turned, and it had morphed into a middle-aged man in a suit.

It was miraculous that she did not bump into Rick at all on the university campus. His school was only five minutes away from hers, after all; they were separated by two courtyards and a library, though, so Rick could easily have avoided her. She wondered just how much time he had spent seeking her out when he had still wanted to.

When winter came, she stopped wondering about him at all.

Four days before classes were due to end for the term, Kate got a phone call from her father. "I have Hepatocellular Carcinoma, Katie," was what her father said. "It's cancer."

It was liver cancer. The prognosis was four months.

Kate went home to watch her father die.

-.-.-.-.-

The tiny apartment was silent when Kate let herself in. Two years after her mother's death, Jim Beckett had moved himself and his daughter out of their Manhattan neighbourhood and into a two-bedroom, whitewashed apartment on the outskirts of Brooklyn; there, Kate had stayed until she graduated high school and went across the country to Stanford University on a scholarship. Kate was not often home, even during term breaks—she would camp out temporarily in whichever budget hotel she could afford in California and work days, studying nights.

Home no longer held any warmth for her, she often thought. She had not missed her father, because his neglect of her while mourning his wife had pushed Kate further away than either of them could have imagined happening while Johanna Beckett was still alive.

Right now, though—right now, as Kate stood in the quiet apartment, the frigidity of the still air made her shiver fearfully. She had pushed her father away for so long, but now that he was at Death's door, she could no longer imagine a world without him.

Padding softly across the hardwood floor, she passed through the kitchen and into her dad's bedroom. The man was in bed—buried under a pile of blankets—his face ashen and his figure so still that for a long moment, Kate's breath caught painfully in her throat. And then he let out a loud snort, and her own breath gushed with relief out of her.

He was sleeping. He was only sleeping.

He was alone, and he was sleeping, and Kate's eyes were blurring rapidly with tears because she was an ingrate daughter who had left her father to face his diagnosis all alone. She high-tailed it out of his bedroom, her fingers already slipping desperately across the worn number pad of her cell phone—she did not even remember when she had pulled the device out of her pocket. She pressed the phone to her ear and willed the ringing on the other end to be replaced with a human voice. It was not until Rick answered with a confused "Kate?" that she remembered that _they were not friends _and the last thing he could possibly want was to be burdened with a soon-to-be-orphaned college student.

She let out a loud sob and gasped out an apology, and hung up the phone. And then, she sank onto her haunches and cried.

-.-.-.-.-

Her father still loved her.

That was what Kate realized when she finally came back to her senses to find her father's arms wrapped tightly around her, his forehead against her temple as he whispered over and over, "I'm sorry. Katie-bug, I'm so sorry."

She reached up a hand to pat her father's arm shakily, absolving him of his past wrongdoings. "Dad, you shouldn't be out of bed," she whispered.

"I heard you crying—"

"I'm okay now," she assured him quickly, shooting him a smile. She stood up slowly, making sure not to throw her dad off-balance, and reached down to help him carefully to his feet. "C'mon, let's get you back into bed."

"I'm not an invalid, y'know," he teased, but it was lacklustre and only served to make her swallow painfully.

"I—I know, but I—" She swallowed again. "Has anybody been caring for you while I was gone?"

"Yeah. Mrs Ferguson from next door," he said. "And a nurse from palliative care comes over every week, or as and when Mrs Ferguson or I need it."

"Good," she murmured. "Good. I'm glad someone has been caring for you."

"How are you, Katie-bug?" Jim asked as he settled back into bed—allowing Kate to tuck the blankets around his waist—and leant back against the headboard. Kate blinked rapidly.

"I should be asking you that."

"I think I'm asking a fair question," Jim retorted calmly. (He was so calm. Calmer than Kate herself could ever be.) "You are my daughter."

"I'm not the one with—" she cut herself off before she could finish the sentence. "Why didn't you call me sooner?"

"I didn't want to worry you," he answered. Kate lowered her eyes. "Things haven't been the same since…"

"No," Kate confirmed. "They have not. I'm—I'm sorry I ran off to Stanford without telling you, Dad."

"At least you weren't eloping," Jim answered whimsically, if tiredly. "I could do worse than having a daughter in Pre-Law—and you always came home for Christmas, anyway. I'm grateful for that."

Not that they _did _anything for Christmas, considering how close to her mother's death it fell.

Kate sniffled. "I don't think I can lose you, Dad."

"Katie-bug…" Her father sighed. "Elisabeth Kübler-Ross has a theory on death and dying, called the five stages of grief. Have you heard of it before?"

Kate shook her head.

"In it," her father continued, "Kübler-Ross claims that there are five stages: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. The stages may be different for everyone in terms of order and duration. I won't deny that I lingered in Bargaining for longer than anyone should have."

Kate chuckled, simultaneously sad and amused.

"I've accepted it now, though," Jim concluded, "and the reason I'm telling you this now is because I want to explain why I haven't told you about the cancer until now. I was in a bad place when I first found out—just like I was in a bad place after your mother died. That's not the memory I want you to have of me. I—I know it's selfish of me to deprive you of the time that you might spend with me, but it's better this way: This way, you get to remember me as the dad I should have been and hope I still can be. Hmm?"

"Daddy," Kate choked out, feeling overwhelmed by his words. "Daddy, don't go," she pleaded.

He shushed her, stubbornly tugging against her resistance to get her into his arms. "It'll be alright, Katie," he soothed her, brushing a hand down her hair as she muffled her sobs in his shirt. "Don't worry about me."

And Kate just wished she could believe him.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I have grand news **to announce—I have finished writing this fic! Epilogue included, there are 24 chapters. Now, for the not-so-grand news—I'm posting this chapter now because my highly erratic work schedule might mean I'm too tired to post anything later (read: You might not hear from me for the next three days). It's a Rick/Kate chapter, though, so I hope it will tide you over till my next update.

Thank you for reading! Enjoy!

_**-Soph**_

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Kate honestly forgot about her disastrous phone call to Rick until hours later.

After the chat with her dad, she had gone next door to thank Mrs Ferguson for the old woman's help in the two months Jim had known about his cancer before Kate had come home; a short visit of tea and sponge cake later, Kate was back inside her apartment, cleaning, tidying, and dealing with neglected chores before she raided the sparse contents of the fridge for something she could make for dinner.

Her father did not emerge from his slumber until called. At dinnertime, he shuffled out in jeans and a checkered shirt, insistent that they eat at the table. Kate allowed her father's persistence to win. She did not know how long it would be before Jim Beckett would be too weak to sit at the dinner table, and if it was his wish to create some semblance of normalcy in the meantime, then she would not disobey his wishes.

After dinner, her father retreated to sit in front of the TV. Kate gathered up the plates and put them in the sink to wash; it was when she was elbow-deep in soapy water that she allowed herself to think back to the mortifying phone call.

Her cheeks burnt hotly at the memory. It had been almost two months since they had spoken. He could hardly have wanted their first communication in two months to have been her uncontrollable sobs; yet, a part of her mind had seen fit to call him—whether for comfort or for something else altogether, she did not know. She owed him an explanation, though.

With a heavy sigh, she dropped the plates into the sink and rinsed off the soap bubbles decorating her skin. She dried her hands on the towel that hung on the wall next to the drainer and glanced into the living room to check on her father—he was laughing at something on TV. (Cartoons. That man had loved them for as long as she could remember.)

Shaking her head with a fond chuckle, she dug her fingers into her jeans, but came up empty. In her fit of crying, she had never put her phone back into her pocket. She looked around and found her phone lying on the kitchen counter. _Huh._

She picked it up to unlock it, but then froze when it lit up: _Five missed calls, _it read. She would bet the salary from her part-time job that they were all from Rick.

As it turned out, they were. There was also a text message from Lanie; Kate guessed that Rick had told Lanie about his worries after Kate had failed to pick up the phone.

Suppressing an eye-roll, Kate slipped into the bathroom and closed the door. She would deal with Lanie later.

She sat down on the edge of the bathtub, ready to dial Rick's number—but then the phone in her hand started to vibrate again. The Caller ID said it was him.

"Hey," she answered in a soft greeting.

"Kate." His voice was anxious. "Kate, what's wrong?"

"Calm down, Rick," she murmured. "I'm okay now."

"Well, what _was _wrong?" he persisted.

She let out a conflicted breath, wondering if she should tell him. On one hand, Rick had no relation to the family; to tell him would be superfluous and unnecessary, since it had nothing to do with him. On the other hand, she just wished he knew. She missed the days when he knew everything about her. She wanted her best friend back, even if it could never happen.

"My dad's sick," she burst out abruptly, her voice thicker than she would have liked.

There was a long pause. "Sick, how?" he asked finally.

"Sick with cancer," she answered, "_really _sick."

There was an even longer pause. "I'm going home," Rick announced suddenly.

_What?_

Kate gaped, though there was no one else in the bathroom to witness her expression. What did he mean by 'home'? Home to _his mother, _home to _New York City, _or home to _her?_

"W-what do you mean?" she stammered.

"You need help, Kate," he said firmly. "If your dad's sick, then you need … well, help."

"Help?" she parroted weakly. "But I—but Rick, but we're not—why?"

"Kate," he whispered. "You're falling apart. I can hear it in your voice. You need someone to—"

"What is it to you?" she parried fiercely. "He's my father, Rick. I'm not—I'm not going to abandon him to someone else."

"I'm not saying to abandon him," Rick answered slowly. She felt guilt wrench through her at the cautious tone of his voice. "I'm saying an extra set of hands helps."

"But they can't be yours."

"Why not?"

"Because your exams are coming up in a week!" she screeched. "And there's Jacinda, and your mother, and so many other factors that you have to consider before you drop everything and tell yourself that for the next four months, you'll just help me deal with my father's cancer!"

"What happens at the end of four months?" he asked instead.

She gulped in a deep breath. She had not meant to tell him that. "Nothing," she lied shakily, but Rick was not a fool, and of course he would not accept that answer.

"Kate."

"H-he…" Her voice trembled. "Rick, his prognosis is four months. He might not live past April."

Rick exhaled deeply. "Oh, Kate."

"So, y'see…" She swallowed. "I'm not going back to university, at least not for now. I'm not sure what my plans will be after he … dies, but they won't be the same anymore. I—I might not even go back to university _ever._"

"I'm going home," he said stubbornly.

"Still?" she asked incredulously. "To what? I have nothing to offer you."

"Nothing but your trust," he said gently. "And that's all I require."

"I can't do that to you. _You _still have classes to attend, Rick. What's the point of coming back, except for one or two days to soothe your conscience? What's the point of even coming to see us at all?"

"I can apply for a leave of absence," he said gently, "and even if it isn't granted, I can still spend a few weeks with you, during Christmas break, before I have to go back to school."

"Rick," she sighed. "Don't be stupid."

"Kate, this is non-negotiable."

"The hell it's not," she snapped. His presumptuousness riled her up; she stood and paced around the tiny bathroom. "What are you doing? Are you even listening to yourself?"

"Yes, I am. And I think what I've decided is pretty reasonable—"

"Yeah, if we were married!" she bit out. "But we're not, Rick, and my dad doesn't even know who you are. Don't you think you're being a bit _hasty _about your decision?"

"_Four months, _Kate. I don't have time not to be hasty!"

"Then don't be anything at all!" she yelled. "Who even asked you—"

"_You _called _me, _remember?" he defended himself, and she felt sadness crash wave-like over her simmering anger. She deflated—dropped her shoulders and sat down again.

"Yeah," she admitted, "because I … wanted you, at the time. But I—I was in a bad place, and it … it didn't mean anything, Rick."

"S'that the truth?" he asked quietly.

She opened her mouth to confirm her statement, but found that she could not. "Don't make me say it," she murmured instead, her voice trembling. "Don't make me give you an honest answer right now."

"I won't," he promised. "But until you can, and you can honestly say that you _want me to walk away—_not because you think it's better for me or because you don't think you deserve having me around—I'm not going to walk away anymore. Because, are _you _listening to yourself? You're struggling. Maybe you have neighbours to help, but you called _me, _and I'll be damned if I leave you stranded on your Island of Solitude.

"So, just text me your address," he insisted firmly. "I'm going to catch the next flight out. I can't stay long, not until after my exams, but then after that I'm yours until at least the beginning of next term. Okay?"

"Why, Rick?" she asked brokenly, wiping distractedly at her cheek.

"Because I broke up with Jacinda," he replied bluntly, "when I realized that you were harder to get out of my system than I thought."

She sniffled. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"Okay," she said. She did not quite know how to respond to that.

"Okay." She could hear the tentative smile in his voice as he continued, "I'll be there soon. Hang in there for me, 'kay? And, no—you may not text me a fake address because I know how to use a phone book, and trust me when I say that I will hunt down every Kate Beckett in the city if that's what it takes to find you."

It made her laugh tearfully. "That's vaguely creepy," she commented, "but … thank you, Rick."

"Yup," he hummed softly. "See you soon."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Kate's father was standing, wide-eyed and face drawn, in front of the bathroom door when she opened it. She jumped upon registering his presence; he barely even twitched in return.

"Who was that?" he asked, his voice shaking.

She swallowed. "Rick."

"Who's Rick?"

"Umm … he's a friend."

"You told your friend I have cancer?"

Kate stood stock-still, barely daring to move. "I'm…" she mumbled. "Dad, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Jim huffed and looked away, his line of sight directed towards the floor. "I'm not mad," he said. "But I never really thought … about the ramifications of this outside our family."

"Rick's a good guy," she hastened to say. "I promise he is."

"I'm not doubting that," her father answered slowly, "but Kate, you really gotta be careful who you tell. It's been you and me for so long, and now…"

"I'm twenty," Kate pointed out. "You don't have to worry about me."

"I just don't like the idea of leaving you alone in this world. There are so many people who aren't what they seem, Katie."

She bit into her bottom lip, careful not to think too much about the first statement. "I can take care of myself," she promised. "Besides, Rick would never do anything that he shouldn't. And it's not like I have either money or status to take advantage of—I'm just gonna be sailing under everyone's radar."

Her father laughed dryly. "You have much to learn about the world yet." And then he stood studying her intently, and Kate tried not to fidget under his penetrating gaze. He said next, "You have to go back to school."

Kate stiffened, bristling. "No, I don't."

"You must," her father answered indifferently.

"Why the hell should I?"

"Because I'll be dead in four months, but you have your future to think about."

Kate stared at Jim gormlessly, entirely at a loss as to how to reply.

And then, suddenly, the urge took over; the slap rang through the air before she had time to fully comprehend what she was doing.

"Don't say it!" she screamed, mortified by both his words and her reaction. She bit into the knuckles of her offending hand. Her cheeks burnt as heatedly as if _he _had slapped _her. _"You're not dead yet, Dad," she said, her voice cracking. "Don't say it. Don't make me think…"

And then the sobs came, and she succumbed to the comfort of her father's embrace for the second time that day—sinking against him as the weight of the world threatened to overwhelm her. That was it: She would be truly alone this time. There would not even be a parent to share the pain with in a few months' time—to either draw closer or push away despite a shared suffering—and Kate would have to find a place to stand on her own in this world.

-.-.-.-.-

"Dad," she murmured hours later, when they had finally settled down from the emotional turmoil, "how can you be so calm?"

Her father sighed as he turned his attention away from the comedic movie both of them decided to watch. "I have had two months to get used to it."

"Did you have," she began hesitantly, "as hard a time as I'm having, dealing with it?"

Her father chuckled. "_Worse,_" he emphasized. "Haven't you noticed the vase on top of the dinner table is gone?"

Kate turned her head to look. "Oh, yeah," she muttered contemplatively. "I guess I wasn't paying attention." She had been trying very hard to distance herself from reality, after all.

"See that piece of cardboard covering the window?" Jim prompted, drawing her thoughts back.

"Yeah?"

"There's a hole in it—the window, I mean—because I may have put the vase through it."

"Dad!" Kate exclaimed, scandalized. "You didn't _hit _anyone, did you?"

"I wouldn't be looking so happy if I had, would I?" her dad questioned, and she giggled.

"No, I guess not."

Her dad grinned in return. "So, yeah, I guess I didn't deal with it very well—but what's done is done, and I can't just … keep looking back when I have only the present to look forward to. I don't have much left to leave behind, Katie—except you. If what time I have left is spent making sure you'll be okay after I pass away, then that'll only be my greatest wish granted."

She blinked back her tears. "I don't know if I can do that. I don't know if I can be okay."

"That's why I want you to go back," he answered honestly. "You have a scholarship waiting for you, Katie. I don't have to worry about how you'll keep living your dreams because, as far as your first degree goes, you're covered—and that goes a long way. It—it makes me feel more secure, knowing that you'll be capable of providing for yourself to at least some extent."

"Yeah," she agreed quietly. She could see her father's reasoning now … but that did not mean she had to like it. She still loathed the idea of leaving him alone; or, even if she went back to school after his death, the idea of resuming normal life when he could no longer. So, she replied ambiguously, "I'll think about it, okay?"

"That's all I ask," Jim answered, noticeably relieved. "Now, tell me about university."

If she were to be honest, she was a far cry from being in the mood to discuss her tertiary institution. Just like she did not begrudge him the wish to have dinner at the table, though, she did not begrudge him this. Sinking further into the couch, she ignored the slapstick humour flashing across the television screen and started to tell him about Lanie the Sassy Girlfriend.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Kate was woken up early the next morning by the _ping _of her cell phone; rolling over to reach for her phone on the bedside table, she discovered a text message from Rick.

_Arrived at LaGuardia, _it read. _What a lovely seven-hour ride I had! Its magnificence is trumped only by the royal bedhead I have, so I'm going to head home first. I'll drop by with lunch later. Does your dad have any dietary restrictions? Does he like pizza?_

Kate texted him a reply on her phone, answering his first question in the conservative negative and his second in the broad affirmative—but tacking on that her father's appetite might vary from day to day—before climbing out of bed. The rug underfoot—the only one in the apartment—was warm; she shivered as she stepped off and her feet touched the cool wooden floor. She dressed quickly but selectively, considering that she did not want Rick to see her in ratty five-year-old T-shirts.

A short-sleeved blouse and a pair of jeans later, she was in the kitchen, cooking up a breakfast for both herself and her father. The man was not up yet: Kate was quickly learning that he slept a lot, fatigued even by the slightest of exertions. She plated up a hard-boiled egg, two lightly fried sausages, and two slices of toast sided by a dollop of jam, before heading into her father's room.

Though tired, her father awoke quickly when his shoulder was shaken. As he struggled to sit up, Kate sank onto the other side of the bed and wondered how to start the conversation.

"Dad," she began slowly, "how much of my conversation with Rick did you hear yesterday?"

Jim Beckett regarded her intently. "Why?" he asked.

"Because…" She cleared her throat, pushing her hair behind her ear. "Well, he's coming here."

"Coming here?"

"Yeah, to the apartment. To, um, to help us out."

"Help us out?"

"Yes, Dad. Stop repeating my words."

Her father seemed to consider that. "Well, then, I have only one question."

"Shoot."

"Is he coming here for you or for me?"

Kate was momentarily rendered speechless by that. "What does it matter?" she asked a moment later, confused.

"_Why _does it matter," Jim corrected, "and it matters because it makes a difference, then, how I dress. If he's coming here for me, I reckon I can look as sick as I want to. If he's coming here for you, I should dress up—look a bit more presentable for my only daughter's boyfriend.

Kate choked unwittingly on her saliva. "Dad," she half-coughed, half-squeaked, "Dad, he's really not my boyfriend."

Jim raised his eyebrows. "I seem to remember a conversation about marriage yesterday."

"In which I explicitly stated we _weren't _married!" she pointed out.

"Why would it even come up if you weren't remotely close to it?"

"Because—" Kate spluttered, "—Oh my God, Dad, dress however you want! Rick and I—we aren't—"

"Answer me honestly, Katie," her father interrupted. "Is there something between you and your Rick?"

"He's not _my _Rick. And why does everybody keep asking me that?" she sniped defensively.

"Because it's relevant," Jim retorted. "On my end, I heard 'drop everything for the next four months', 'I have nothing to offer you', and 'because I wanted you'. It's not a normal conversation you have with friends, Katie-bear—if it is, I suggest you review how you're going about making friends. Now, _are _you dating him? If you aren't, how close are you to dating him?"

"None of your business," she answered churlishly, angry that he should use something he had eavesdropped on to interrogate her. _How dare he?_

"Well, it won't be in four months," he snapped back, irreverent towards her anger, and her eyes teared up.

"Dad," she whimpered.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, his face instantly contrite. "That was wrong of me. I just … wanted to know."

She wiped her eyes tiredly, and finally relented. "We're … we're drawn, I guess, Rick and I—" she said, fidgeting with the covers beneath her, "—to each other, I mean. We're drawn to each other. But it can't happen."

"Why not?" Jim questioned softly.

"Because it's just not meant to be." Kate shrugged and studied the covers. "Rick, he's … he's crazy amounts of talented."

"Aren't you?" her father pointed out. "The last time I checked, they still give out scholarships only to those with potential."

"I'm _book-smart,_" Kate corrected, "I do well in my studies, but it's not a guarantee that I will do well in life. Besides, I have other priorities that come before Rick, and it's not fair to him if I get involved with him but can't commit 100 per cent."

"You're both in college, Katie," Jim said, sounding highly amused. "It's a given that you're both going to have higher priorities—that doesn't mean it'll always be that way."

"Then we should wait until it is, shouldn't we?"

"I guess it depends," he pondered, "firstly on how you approach the relationship, and then on whether you're both willing to wait."

Kate huffed out a laugh. "Rick finds waiting a minute for an ice-cream the worst kind of torture."

Jim chuckled, as well. "An impatient man."

"But he'd never push me, Dad," she clarified, "and, I think, maybe that's the problem. Maybe I need a push, but he'd never push me into admitting what I really want."

"You're not a trolley, Katherine," her father scolded sternly. "Don't let people push you around. If _you _want to get somewhere, then _you _are all the push you need."

She dared to smile cautiously up at him. "Learn that from your counselling sessions?" she teased him fondly.

"Nope." Her father grinned right back. "Just from raising the stubbornest daughter on Earth."

* * *

**A/N: **Well, there we go. Next chapter is where Rick and Kate _finally _meet up again. I realize these two chapters are short, but they're necessary—a re-establishment of Jim and Kate's father/daughter relationship, if you will. I hope you enjoyed them.

**-_Soph_**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

They were dressed, Kate in her clothes from the morning and Jim in slacks and a polo shirt, and waiting impatiently on the couch by the time the intercom buzzed. Kate almost vaulted over the back of the couch at the sound; her father started laughing hysterically.

"Beckett residence," she answered while she pressed the button for the microphone and ignored the cackling hyena in the living room.

"_Pizza delivery!_" Rick's cheerful voice greeted. "_Also, is that your father in the background?_"

Kate rolled her eyes. "Yeah, ignore him." She buzzed Rick in. "Come on up. We're on the third floor—the unit to your right when you get out of the elevator."

There was no response, so Kate assumed it meant Rick was coming up. She let go of the intercom button, but did not stray from the front door, since returning to the living room and subjecting herself to her father's teasing was far from an option.

The knock came quicker than she fully expected. She wiped her palms on her jeans before opening the door; behind her, her father had mercifully stopped laughing and had stood up to welcome their visitor. Rick stepped inside, surveying the place from wall to wall. Her heart seized momentarily as she wondered whether he would look down upon the apartment's want for furnishings.

Finally, he looked at her. "I was honestly expecting floor-to-ceiling books, what with how your dorm room's decorated," he said, and she laughed nervously. "I like it better this way—looks like there's more to life than academia."

"_Ass_," she muttered as he brushed past her and placed the two pizza boxes on the adjacent dining table before striding over to her father.

"Mr Beckett," he said, voice low with deference and head bowed a little. "I'm Richard Rodgers; I'm your daughter's friend. I know she acts like she doesn't like me, but she did, as a matter of fact, call me the very afternoon she got home in a tone that troubled me greatly, so I'm here to see if I can help. I know I may be overstepping boundaries here, but you are always free to eject me from your humble abode—please know, though, that I do come with the best of intentions."

"_The daughter in question is still here, you know,_" Kate griped, because her father looked too astonished to reply. "Don't _I _get the option of ejecting you from my 'humble abode'?"

"Of course." Rick turned to her, his head still bowed. "But please note that I may put up token resistance because I am a little bit smitten with you."

Jim gave an abrupt snort, and then dissolved into laughter once more as he collapsed onto the couch. Kate stalked forwards, furious—she prodded a finger into Rick's chest and warned, "That pizza had better be good, because I am _this close _to kicking you right out again."

"It's your favourite," the boy protested, backing away guiltily. "One pepperoni, and the other pineapple tuna!"

"It's a good thing you brought pepperoni," Jim spoke up from the couch. "I _hate _pineapple tuna, but Katie loves it."

Rick perked up at the mention of the moniker, and Kate felt her cheeks burn. "Don't even think about it," she growled at him. "Go get us the pizzas."

She walked off into the kitchen, but heard behind her Rick say in a completely normal and respectful tone for the first time that day, "May I, Mr Beckett?" and it made her smile. Rick could be counted on to act in the weirdest of ways, but his heart truly was in the right place.

Her father must have answered in the affirmative, because by the time she retrieved a stack of plates from the cabinet above her head and turned back to the living room, Rick had already set up an opened box on the coffee table.

"Bring the plates over here," he hollered before trudging past her to the kitchen sink. "Washing hands before eating: Always a good habit." Kate felt the familiar sensation of annoyance and amusement intermixed bubbling up inside her.

She made her way into the living room and placed the stack of plates on top of the coffee table, pausing for a moment before deciding that it would be in her best interests to wash her hands, too. She could not plate up her dad's pizza with bacteria-ridden hands, after all. She switched places with Rick in the kitchen, soaping up and rinsing quickly so that her dad would not have long to wait; it shocked her when she looked back into the living room to find Rick already serving her father.

"Thank you," she said shyly when she re-joined them on the couch. Rick gave her a huge smile.

"You're welcome," he said before turning to the television. "Now, what's this we're watching?"

"_Blade Runner_," she answered, burrowing into the couch cushions and making herself comfortable.

"A classic," Rick commented beside her, mirroring her actions without hesitation. "I approve."

And that was how Kate enjoying herself for the first time since receiving her dad's bad news.

* * *

**A/N: Ta-da! **What do you think?

**-_Soph_**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I know **the last few chapters have been pretty short, but the next few chapters will be somewhat longer, so I guess it all balances out. Adequate story expansion has never really been my strong point, lol.

**To Claire: **Ah, but you're working on the assumption that Kate tells Jim everything—and she doesn't. Kate's relationship with her father in this fic isn't quite the same as their relationship on the show, firstly because she was younger here when everything happened, which caused everything to implode in a larger way; and secondly because she still _is _younger here than on the show and thus less likely to share things with her father as an adult equal. Their relationship took a different course of progression; it all culminated at a point where Kate attended a university at the other side of the country in a bid to escape her father for the majority of the year. It's perfectly reasonable, then, that Jim's never heard of Rick before.

**Enjoy!**

**-_Soph_**

* * *

**Chapter 13**

Though the morning had been good, Kate was quickly learning that conditions were apt to fluctuate drastically throughout the day.

Jim had been fine at breakfast and through lunch, but when two o'clock rolled around, he suddenly declared himself too tired to keep them company any longer. Thinking nothing of it since she had come home to him sleeping the day before, Kate had let him go; she and Rick had remained sitting where they were for the rest of the afternoon and indulged in a Sci-Fi movie marathon.

It was not until dinnertime that the problem arose. Rick had whipped up what looked to be an extremely delicious meal (considering Kate was still yet to stock up on the foods that they needed), but when Kate had stepped into her father's bedroom to call Jim to dinner, she had found herself unable to awaken him.

Panicked, she had called out to Rick. The latter came skidding into the room with an apron around his waist and an apparently forgotten spatula in hand—the image would have been humorous had she not been so terrified.

Between their combined efforts, they had managed to rouse Jim partially. The man had groggily told them to go ahead with dinner and that he would catch up later. Rick began to coax an anxious Kate out of the bedroom, positing that her dad was just tired—and that, if at any time during the night, Jim's condition began to deteriorate, then the hospice nurse's number would be on speed-dial before Kate could even blink—and that was how she now found herself putting Jim's share of the food into the refrigerator and sitting down at the table to a lonely dinner with Rick.

(The table had only two chairs, anyway.)

(Still, she could not help reminding herself that they would have been able to find a chair somewhere to accommodate three people: Perhaps an armchair or the woven rattan stool from her bedroom.)

It felt strange and painful knowing that she had pictured, just that afternoon, a dinner where the three of them would make merry. It would not have shaken the shadow of cancer off them, but those same shadows would have lingered in the corners instead, shrinking back against the light that Rick carried everywhere with him.

She had counted on so much, and it was not even Rick's fault that things had failed.

Dropping her fork onto her plate with a clink, she buried her face in her hands. She felt Rick's chair shift closer, and then his arm was looping around the far side of her torso and pulling her to rest against his chest—she listened to the steady _thump _of his heartbeat. It was calming.

"I'm not ready to grow up," she confessed brokenly and suddenly.

"What do you mean?" he asked softly.

"My dad," she explained, "keeps insisting that I need to go back to university; finish my degree; be able to look after myself after he … passes."

"He's right."

"I know, but I don't want him to be." She sniffled. "I never had any intention of quitting, you know. Not before this. But then he told me he has cancer, and though I left for a different reason, I feel now as if … if I don't make plans for university, then he won't die. Which is stupid—I know that rationally—but how do I reconcile having a normal life with … with … his…"

"—Not being here?" Rick surmised.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry, Kate." Rick sounded so woeful. "I don't have an answer for you."

"Why are you here?" she questioned instead.

"You do keep asking me this, but my answer hasn't changed."

She sighed. "I guess I just … I've gone it alone, for so long—and before that, I was the baby of the family: I was the centre, and only two flanked me. I feel like there are two sides to the coin: _Kate, Before _and _Kate, After, _and your being here doesn't gel with either of that. I don't know how to deal with you being here."

"There's nothing to deal with, though," Rick pointed out. "I'm here to help, not to cause trouble."

"Will you still be here after my dad…?" she murmured hesitantly. There lay the heart of the matter: Kate did not think she could cope with Rick's touch, Rick's comfort, Rick's unequivocal support, if they were to fade out of her life eventually.

But he reassured her without pause. "_Always,_" he uttered so surely, and it made her brave.

It gave her the strength to finally sit up.

She stuck her fork into her pasta and twirled it aimlessly; he reached out two fingers to still her listless movements.

"You need to eat," he said firmly.

"I don't feel like eating," she mumbled.

"You need to," he persisted, "because one skipped meal will turn into two, and then three, and then four; and soon, it'll be a choice between keeping your father healthy and keeping _yourself _healthy, and I don't want it to come down to that. So, just, try to take a few bites, 'kay? And when we're done, we can sit in your father's bedroom until bedtime if that's what you want."

It hardly made the idea of food go down easier, but she relented with a sigh. She shoved a forkful of pasta into her mouth; Rick, obviously pleased, pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'm going to check on your dad," he said as he pushed back from the dining table and stood up. "You sit here and do whatever thingamajig you need to make yourself eat more."

The instruction almost made her laugh. She obliged, though, chewing her pasta reflexively as she tracked his progress into the bedroom.

When he came back, he was smiling. "All good," he reported. "No fever. Abdomen doesn't seem swollen. His breathing is regular and he was coherent when we last spoke to him, so I expect that we'll be seeing him emerge in a few hours."

"Who are you, Dr Rodgers?" she shot at him.

But Rick's words did soothe her a little bit.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Rick had been right—her father had woken up shortly after eleven that night, with movements still sluggish but very much present and self-sufficient. A late dinner later, Jim had even joined them in an animated conversation about baseball which carried on until Rick left at a quarter to two in the morning. Kate and her father had retired to their respective bedrooms then; though Kate was no longer by her father's side, she had been reassured enough by his spirit while debating baseball teams with Rick to get into bed without too much worry. She got a full eight hours' sleep. When she woke up, Jim Beckett was already at the stove, a twinkle in his eye as he served her animal pancakes.

It was now two days later—the hospice nurse was busy with her weekly visit. Rick and Kate sat on the couch in the living room, waiting for the nurse to finish with her duties; as she did, Kate ruminated and wondered how to tell Rick about an important part of her past. It was something she had been considering for the past day. It did not feel right to her to have him there without her sharing, at least, the event that had been integral to the formation of her current family dynamic. Rick never asked, but Kate now wanted him to know; wanted him to _get to know _her and her father. She only hoped it would not faze him too much.

"I was almost taken away by CPS once," she blurted, realizing only in hindsight by his slacked jaw that she should have started with something else.

"Wha…?" he asked dumbly.

"Child Protective Services," she elaborated. "They almost took me away once."

Rick's throat worked; it seemed as if he had questions, but could not find a way to voice them. So, Kate continued, "My father—When my mom died, my dad … got into alcoholism. I didn't know what it was at the time; I was barely nine and very sheltered, so though I knew what wine was and that my parents drank it, I didn't know it was something someone could get _addicted _to. I think maybe that's how it managed to escape unnoticed for so long—for more than a year. I—I'd see my dad with these bottles, but … I never said anything. He was a functioning alcoholic, you know, for a while. He went to work. He managed to take care of me, some of the time—and if he forgot to pick me up from school once or twice or thrice, then I'd just tell myself that he was still mourning my mother and needed time to himself.

"Until one night," she continued, swallowing back her tears. "I guess it'd gotten worse for a while without my noticing—I mean, we were so far apart by then, because he was always so brusque and _indifferent _to me, and I was tired of it—but this one night, I wanted dinner and he hadn't woken up since I'd come home from school. I went to check up on him. He was in the bedroom with these big, empty bottles beside him. I was so angry. So, I told my next-door neighbour, Mrs Rosenstein, that he wasn't waking up and that I wanted dinner. I thought I was taking revenge on him by ratting him out."

"What happened?" Rick asked when she paused. The thumb of his left hand reached out to brush away a tear she did not know she had shed; Kate blinked furiously, her eyes wet once again, but she sought courage from the gesture to speak up.

"Apparently, Mrs Rosenstein had noticed his descent into the bottle for a while," Kate continued. "It was never serious enough for her to take any action, but I guess leaving me without dinner was the last straw for her. She went back to my apartment with me and tried to wake him, but when she couldn't … she called the ambulance on him. I didn't realize it until years later, but I think at the time, she knew that the _hospital _would call CPS because my dad had left a young minor unattended for so many hours. Anyway, CPS came. Mrs Rosenstein told them all about my dad—I was supposed to be eating the dinner she got me from the hospital cafeteria, but I overheard her." She sucked in an interrupted breath. "They stayed until my dad woke up. It wasn't bad, it wasn't like he had overdosed; but he just _refused to care, _even when they told him they had me. He'd drunk too much to care. So, they stayed until he sobered up properly, and then they told him they were taking me away because of neglect."

"Oh, Kate," Rick murmured sympathetically, "I'm sorry."

She wiped at her eyes. "Mrs Rosenstein was a short-term foster carer, so she took me in," she concluded. "And I will _never forgive her _for getting social services in on it, but I'm glad she had a place for me all the same, because who knows where I would have ended up otherwise?"

"What happened after that?" Rick asked softly.

"Dad went to rehab." Kate bit her lip. "I spent nine months understanding alcoholism and what neglect was and why I was in foster care, and just being grateful that I wasn't in a group home. When he came back, he moved us away. Even though things were relatively normal after that, I was too far gone in my anger to care that he was trying to make amends; that he was trying to give us a new start. I was way past eleven by then. He had missed more than two years of my life. So, I acted out."

"Until Chuck."

"Until Chuck," she confirmed. "I'd felt so _unlovable _at that point, Rick. My dad had loved his bottles more than he had me. I had had no other family, so I'd become a ward of the state. Mrs Rosenstein … was a kind woman, but she had not been the selfless person I had needed at that point. Chuck was the first boy I thought I'd loved, but he hadn't loved me. And I—I had nowhere to turn to; no one to confide in. So, I pushed myself further away from the rest of the world and buried myself in my books … until my father calls me one night to tell me he has cancer, and I realize that _I've _missed almost five years of _his _life. I don't know if that makes me the bigger sinner than him."

"_You are not a sinner, Kate._"

"How do you know?" Kate protested. "How do you know it wasn't my fault that his alcoholism went unnoticed? How do you know that I couldn't have done something to stop Mrs Rosenstein from getting CPS to take me away from him, or to stop him from going into the bottle in the first place? How do you know that I couldn't just have forgiven him—"

"You were just a kid!" Rick pointed out. "_He _was the adult here."

"And he'd lost his _wife,_" Kate snapped brokenly. "I can't imagine what it must be like, losing your soul mate. They were so in love, my parents. I used to think … but it doesn't matter what I think. The king lost his queen, the princess fell from her tower, and the castle is now in shambles. What a lovely end to the fairy tale."

"It's not ended yet."

Kate scoffed. "Give it four months."

"Stop that," her companion said firmly. "Four months is an _estimate, _not a ticking time bomb. You need to stop telling yourself 'four months', because at this rate, even if your father manages to live past four months, _you'd _fall sick at the end of four months from all the fear and stress."

Kate laughed, half-bitterly and half-sceptically. "Bet you never thought your Nikki Heat would have such a backstory, huh?" she questioned, ignoring his advice.

"No," he conceded after a silence. "But Nikki Heat … wasn't the one I—I fell in love with."

Her head snapped towards his at the unexpected confession. He was staring at her, his expression earnest, his eyes never wavering. He was _serious. _She had just spilt her guts out onto a platter for him and served it up with seasoning to boot; he _still _thought he was in love with her.

Shaking her head, she looked away and gave his hand a comforting squeeze. His feelings would fade away soon enough, she knew. People tended to experience a rush of emotions upon receiving news that they had not expected; it was only in hindsight that they would realize how shaky the foundation of what they felt was. If Rick wanted to believe that he was in love with her, she would not disillusion him.

Rick did not push her when she let the topic drop.

She pretended not to see how disappointed he was, though.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Kate laughed as she tripped along the sidewalk, tugged onwards by the eager boy before her. Rick had shown up that morning in an excited mood, proclaiming that he had gotten Mrs Ferguson (Kate did not even know when he had made his acquaintance with the elderly neighbour) to look out for Jim in case the man needed help and that they—Rick and herself—were going to take a trip.

It had not taken much convincing. Though reluctant to leave her father, Kate had been struck by a severe case of cabin fever earlier that week and was dying to step outside her apartment for a few hours; when her father urged them to go out and smell the fresh air—however much of that New York City offered—she had grabbed her coat and followed Rick out the door with only minimal hesitation.

That was how she now found Rick dragging her past rows of residential houses while chattering incessantly about the neighbourhood, its culture, its people, and its businesses. Just as she began wondering where he was taking her, he stopped in front of a red-and-orange-brick building with dark green trim.

"I live here," he announced proudly. "See that apartment on the second floor, on the right? Yup, that's me. Like my plants?"

She snorted as she took in the rightmost balcony and the perennials decorating it. "They're okay, I guess."

Rick deflated momentarily beside her before finding his spirit again. "Wait till you see inside," he told her, dragging her towards the entrance. "Mother tends to go all out when decorating. We have a glass bar _and _a baby grand."

The idea of a baby grand piano intrigued her, so she allowed him to pull her through the spacious lobby, up the elevator, and into the hallway that led into his apartment. Once the front door was unlocked and opened, he stepped to the side, permitting her to enter first. She walked in, awed at first glance by the spaciousness of his living room. It looked bigger than her place.

"Mother likes to move around a lot," he explained as he stepped up beside her. "This is the place we've lived in since I was fifteen, and it's also the place we've stayed at longest. I must have moved three or four times before I turned twelve."

"Huh," she commented. "Is there a reason for that?"

Rick shrugged. "Mother just likes the change. Wine?"

"Rick." She gave him a fondly exasperated look.

"_Okay,_ I know you're not yet legal, but you're in a private residence," Rick protested. "Besides, Mother's wine is top quality."

"No, thanks," she refused as she pulled off her coat and hung it onto the peg beside her. "Can I look at your piano, though?"

"Yeah, sure," he invited. He took off his own coat and followed her, propping his elbows on the glossy, black-painted wood as she sat down at the bench. "Do you play?"

She shook her head. "I learnt guitar, though."

"Past tense?" he asked observantly.

"Yeah. It was before my dad and I grew apart."

"He taught you, then?"

"He did." She did not say anything else, but Rick moved around the corner of the piano to sit beside her.

"I know a bit of piano," he told her. "Not much, but enough to tell my majors from my minors and my _staccato _from my _legato. _I could teach you, if you liked."

She hummed. "It would be pointless. I have no piano of my own to practise on."

"No," he agreed, "but not everything about learning has to be practice and hard work. Sometimes, you can know something … just for fun."

She chuckled shyly. "That does sound good."

"Go on, then," he urged. He picked up her right hand without asking and placed her thumb onto an ivory white key, spreading the rest of her fingers out across its adjacent neighbours. Indicating the section under her thumb, he told her, "That's Middle C. In its basest form, its major scale has no black keys and only eight notes. You could play a lot of simple songs if you knew it—_really _simple songs, like 'Baa Baa Black Sheep' or something; but still, songs. You ready?"

And so they began.

-.-.-.-.-

They both startled from their occupation only when the door slammed open and Rick's mother made her appearance. She was a tall, slim woman, with a face wizened by age but still expressive in its abundance of energy. On her figure hung every colour imaginable—bangles, loud and eye-catching, offset by a tied muslin dress which back ends swept the floor. Off her feet came black pumps—probably the plainest thing on her body—and Martha Rodgers came stumbling into the room, shaking the curls back into her substantial copper hair, as the door swung shut behind her.

"That was the _worst _rehearsal ever," she said dramatically before she looked at Kate. "Hello, dear. Who might you be?"

"Mother, this is Kate," Rick introduced. The younger woman noticed for the first time that her friend looked almost nervous.

"Kate, you say?" The older woman looked intrigued. "Is it short for 'Katherine'?"

"Yes, ma'am," Kate answered, standing up like Rick had. His mother waved a hand dismissively.

"Please, call me Martha. 'Ma'am' makes me feel old—and my son over there is just a boy. How do you do?"

"I-I'm—" Kate stuttered, confused and surprised by the abrupt change in topic. "I'm fine, thank you."

"Always a pleasant thing to be," Martha replied crisply before marching across the living room. Stopping in front of a door, one that presumably led to her bedroom, she added, "Now, you two have fun. Don't let me interrupt you—my plans are simply to lie on my bed and bemoan the _disaster _that is my stage partner. What a terribly knuckle-headed man!"

And with that, Martha was gone.

Kate stared at Rick.

That was … interesting, to say the least.

* * *

**A/N: **To my guest reviewer from the previous chapter—Thank you for your suggestion :) and I mean no offence, but I feel like I have to defend my choice of phrasing. I know that alcoholism is a clinical way of referring to addiction to alcohol; I simply didn't feel as if Kate would be _un_detached when referring to it, if that makes sense. It's like when Castle asks her about the watch (on the show) and she says, "My dad took her death hard. He's sober now," rather than going into detail about what happened. The reason Kate doesn't say _that _here is because in this story, Kate was a young child when everything happened, so her perception of what addiction to alcohol is was influenced by what the authority figures around her said. If they called it alcoholism, then she'll call it alcoholism, because 'Dad went into rehab for alcoholism, and that was why the State took me away and put me in short-term foster care'. That's just my point of view, but please, feel free to disagree.

**A/N 2: **My apologies for the slightly slower updates; I've been working on another fic which I may or may not publish, and it's been taking up my time when I'm not working or applying to university. We've now met Martha Rodgers, though. I hope you liked her! Thank you for reading!

**_-Soph_**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"Why do you call her 'Mother'?" Kate questioned, picking at a soft edge of the quilt covering her friend's bed.

She and Rick had secluded themselves in his bedroom shortly after the introduction of his mother—the Broadway Whirlwind—whereupon a flustered Rick had proceeded to stammer out his apologies. Kate had been quick to assuage his worries—she never thought, though, that she would see this insecure side of him. Rick was always self-assured, in her mind: A man who would stride through life with skill and confidence alike. For the first time, she realized that even Superman had his Kryptonite, and Rick, too, had his fears.

"Well, she calls me 'Richard'," he answered casually without looking at her. He lounged below her, with his legs stretched out across the floor and his back against the bed. "But really, she wants it—has told me to call her 'Mother' since as far back as I can remember. Maybe it's a Broadway thing. I dunno."

"Do you like it?"

"I'm indifferent to it." He rolled his shoulders. "I think mostly I'm just used to it."

Kate hesitated for a moment before reaching out; running her fingers through his soft brown hair and scraping her fingernails lightly against his scalp. He startled slightly. "Does the relationship between you and your mother bug you?" she asked softly.

"I think…" he pondered, never turning around, "that growing up, I had a lot of issues with her. Every child has issues with their parents, I know that—but she was a single mother raising a very mischievous boy while working full-time. And when I say 'full-time', I mean _'full-time'_; being a Broadway actress isn't a 9-to-5 job. So, it wasn't easy. She left me in the care of nannies a lot. She also isn't prone to nesting, so we moved a lot and I changed schools a lot. But she loves me—that much, I have never doubted. That quilt you're sitting on? She hand-made it, stitch by stitch, between rehearsals. Does the relationship between her and myself bug me? Yes, because I wish sometimes she were a _little _more Soccer Mom. But she isn't, and I can't complain because she does have her own special brand of maternal instinct."

Kate smiled. "She _does _seem to have her own way of doing things."

"I wanted you to like her, Kate." Rick's voice was suddenly low and plaintive. "That wasn't how I planned your introduction … but I wanted you to like her."

She regarded the back of his head curiously. "You planned our introduction?"

"Well, yeah," he mumbled, as if self-conscious. "You show me yours, I show you mine. It was a _quid pro quo _thing."

"Except I never expected you to meet my father," she reminded him.

"Yeah, but you don't regret it … do you?" His voice wavered.

"No," she assured him quickly, dipping both hands to cup his face upside-down, brushing her thumbs across his reddening cheeks. "_Never. _I don't know what happened with Jacinda, but I—the fact that you dropped everything to come be with me … I could not _possibly _explain to you how grateful I am for that."

He tilted his head back; studied her with serious eyes. "I told you, Jacinda couldn't hold a candle to you."

"I'm sure she was a very special girl, though."

"She was nice," he said, "but she wasn't the one for me."

Huffing, Kate tapped Rick on the cheek. "You need to stop saying things like that."

"It's hard to when you're groping my face," he retorted, and she withdrew her hands hurriedly, her cheeks burning. He exclaimed, disappointed, "_Aww!_"

"Cut it out!" she squealed. "This is why I never lay my hands on you."

He gave her a joking leer. "Does that mean that if I don't say anything, you'll touch me?"

"Rick!"

With a rather wild cackle, he wheeled around, and then propped his chin upon the covers. Once done, he turned sombre. "I go back tomorrow," he told her. "Exams start the day after tomorrow. I'd like some rest and preparation before that."

She swallowed, guilt twinging her heart. "I'm sorry I cut into your study time, Rick."

"You didn't," he replied. "It was my choice to come here."

"Yeah, but if I hadn't called you…"

"Then I would have spent days; weeks; months, even, pining for you," he declared solemnly, sitting up straight. "Don't think for a second that I wouldn't have noticed you were gone."

"You would have?" she enquired, surprised.

"Well, yeah," he said simply. "I … I spent some time avoiding you, but … at the end of the day, I would like to think I'd always have gone back to you."

"Why?" she spluttered in astonishment. "What if I would have rejected you?"

"You wouldn't have," he answered confidently. "You would have pretended I didn't exist; fudged the truth; denied my insinuations; avoided the topic altogether—but you would never have said, outright, that you didn't want me there."

"I might have, if you pushed me."

"I don't think that counts," he said in amusement. "How long would you have counted on your anger to keep you at arm's length from me?"

"Ass," Kate muttered in return, but did not deny his words. Instead, she nudged him hard. "Hey."

He grinned up at her. "Yeah?"

"You better work hard in your exams."

"If you're trying to channel my mother, you're doing it wrongly. You should say instead, 'Richard, a gentleman _earns _his keep,' though, actually—she's never asked me to earn my keep. I'm not sure she noticed that I came close to failing out of boarding school once or twice."

Rolling her eyes, Kate rapped on his head with her knuckles. "I just _meant,_" she emphasized, "that I don't want to have to explain to my dad why I brought the village idiot home—so, don't make me have to explain, okay?"

Rick stared at her. "I won't," he promised, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "You're gonna be so proud of me."

Chuckling, she settled her hands around his nape. "I already am," she told him, her voice breaking a bit. "But I want my dad to be, too. So, please?"

His hands came up, his long fingers wrapping around her forearms as he fixed steady, determined eyes on her, and she knew he had received her message. "Always," he told her.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

"This is it," Rick declared, casting a glance at the security checkpoint—the farthest Kate could go—leading into the airport's local Departures terminal. It was time; Kate was seeing him off on his flight to California, where he would be remaining for the next week or so during his examinations. She laughed at his dramatic manner, tugging on his arm to get his attention.

"You ready?" she asked.

"As I'll ever be," he answered confidently.

"What are you going to do on the flight there?" she queried.

"Well, I was thinking I could study," He crooked an amused smile at her. "Apparently, I have someone to make proud."

"Rick," she half-groaned, half-laughed. "S'not a joke."

"I know," he answered before growing serious. Lowering his voice, he told her, "Listen: I need to know … how much of a not-joke this is."

"What do you mean?" she asked in confusion. "You thought I was—"

"I know you weren't _joking,_" he interrupted, "but involving your dad, Kate? That's a serious thing if we're talking about _us—_a very serious thing, unless you meant it in an 'I hope Daddy approves of my platonic friends' manner, in which case … it's just a little over the top. So, I need to know … if you _really mean it. _If you think it's important I get your dad's approval."

She took a step back at his phrasing. "When you say it like that…"

"I'm not talking _serious-serious,_" he cut in, looking exasperated. "But it's not … not-serious. I mean, what do you want me to say, Kate? One day you're dismissing what I said—pretending you didn't know I was sincere—and the next, you're telling me to make your dad proud. I feel like I'm missing the bigger picture here. So, Kate, tell me … are we going anywhere?"

She swallowed. For a moment, she was tempted to brush him off, but something in his blue eyes flickered, and her resolve to lie faded away. She took a deep breath to prepare herself. Seeking elusive courage, she told him, "I've … done a lot of thinking since that afternoon, and I don't believe you. I don't know where you get off thinking _that, _because—it's just not possible, at our age. What do we know of it? But there's something there—I _know _there's something there—and I'm so sick of pushing you away. I want to leap, but—" She sucked in a deep breath, "—I've never done this before. You're the first acquaintance of mine, romantic or otherwise, who's come to my home since my mom … you know. And that says something about me. I'm not an easy person to get to know. I don't give myself freely. But I like you.

"And I want to be with you," she murmured. "But I can't just say that. I can't just say, 'Let's do it,' because that's not where I'm at, right now."

"And how does your dad come into all this?" he asked sombrely.

Kate shrugged. "It's my way of saying," she mumbled timidly, "that I hope you come back to visit us."

"You know I would."

"I know, but I hope you _come back,_" she emphasized.

The weight of his gaze pinned her down. "I will," he promised, and she dared to give him a small smile lingering upon the edges of hope.

"No more Jacindas?"

"None."

Something in her relaxed. Breathing a sigh of relief, she stepped forwards and embraced him. "Have a safe flight, then," she mumbled into his jacket and felt him chuckle.

"That eager to get rid of me, now that you know I'll be _coming back?_" he teased.

"I'll be okay, just as long as you'll be coming home."

His hand grazed her temple, tucked a lock of her brown hair behind her ear; his fingertips made her skin tingle. "See you soon," he whispered—and even though it was not posed as a question, she nodded.

"I'll be waiting," she returned.

-.-.-.-.-

A week passed without either of them really noticing.

They spoke on the phone every night, mostly about superficial things like how their days had gone or what they had had for dinner. Their phone conversations never lasted long, since Rick still had to study for his exams, but it soothed Kate's yearning; she missed him more than she thought she would.

Two days before he was to come home, he sprang a surprise on her.

"_I want you to meet my mother when I go home,_" he said, and she spluttered down the phone line.

"W-what? I've met your mother already."

"_Five seconds doesn't count._" The pout was evident in his voice. "_And she wasn't in the best of moods that day. I've met your father for real, so why can't you my mother?_"

"Because you _wanted _to meet my father."

"… _You don't want to meet my mother?_"

"No, I do," Kate hastened to say. "I don't even know why I'm arguing, really—I do want to meet your mother."

"_You do?_" He sounded so overjoyed. "_Because I'm going to tell her that she needs to free up a day of her schedule._"

"Are you sure she won't mind?" Kate asked hesitantly.

"_Nah,_" he told her indifferently. "_She could only be too happy that I'm finally bringing a girl home._"

Kate snorted. "I don't know what to say to that."

"'_Oh, Rick! What an honour it is.'_"

Kate rolled her eyes. "I warn you: If your mother doesn't like me, your enormous ego won't help."

"_She will,_" he replied.

"How do you know?" Kate shot back.

"_I'm psychic, obviously,_" he answered without missing a beat, "_but, seriously, it's just because I can't fathom the idea of anyone disliking you._"

She smiled shyly. "That's flattering," she said.

"_That's me,_" he answered cheerfully. "_I flatter. You may call me … 'The Flatterer'._"

She wrinkled her nose with distaste before continuing, her voice low, "So, we're really doing this, huh? Because before you left…"

He was suddenly much quieter. "_If you think we're going too fast, Kate…_"

"No," she blurted quickly. "No, it's fine."

"_You sure?_" he asked uncertainly.

"Yeah," she confirmed. "Because I trust you. But … look, I know we're not quite _there _yet, but I really need to ask if … you've given any thought to what we're going to do if either of our parents disapproves."

"_What is this, _Romeo and Juliet_?_" he teased lightly. "_If they disapprove, they disapprove._"

"Oh, c'mon." She clucked her tongue at him. "I think we both know each other well enough to say that we would hate for our loyalties to be divided between family and each other."

"_I think most people would hate that,_" he reasoned. "_But if it comes to that, Kate … Kate, I think you should know that I love my mum very much._"

"And you'd choose her," Kate surmised, her heart sinking despite herself.

"_I would,_" he confirmed, "_if she were wholly opposed to the idea of us together. But I'm hoping it doesn't come to that._"

"Me, too," she agreed softly.

"_And I'd fight for you, okay? Don't doubt that. I would._"

"I know," she answered softly, her heart clenching.

"_Good,_" he murmured back, just as softly. "_Okay, I gotta go. Got books to study; people to make proud. Last two exams. Wish me luck._"

"Good luck!" she exclaimed, ignoring his jibe at her words from her first afternoon at his place. He hung up after an audibly blown air kiss; she laughed, squirming a bit at the unexpected intimacy of it, and then took the phone away from her ear.

She swiped her thumb across the silent, now-darkened phone.

If by any chance he felt that caress, then he could pretend it was her fingers skating across the smooth skin of his palm.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Rick had come home home on a Sunday morning.

He had bounced, loudly and cheerfully, into Kate's apartment at half past nine (before she was even properly dressed) to announce that she and her father were invited to a pre-Christmas dinner at the Rodgers' on the Sunday before the 25th. Kate and Jim had exchanged flinching looks at each other across the room before Kate apologetically told Rick that Christmas had been a non-celebration in the years since her mother's passing.

The boy was much subdued after that, but had insisted still that they attend dinner at his and his mother's place. Relying on his promise that there would be no festive decorations and _definitely _no mistletoe where mistletoe was not supposed to hang, Kate had relented and finally accepted his invitation.

It was how she found herself currently toeing off her shoes three steps into his apartment and laying them beside his on the shoe rack—neatly aligning the heels of her shoes with his so that the difference in their sizes would be evident. He had _big _feet. She liked it. He had a large frame in general, not so much so that he became corpulent, but enough just to shelter her and make her feel safe.

She blinked away self-conscious embarrassment at the thought. With her father now plonking his shoes unceremoniously onto the rack as well, it was not the time to indulge in thoughts of Rick's better physical qualities.

The boy himself stood welcoming in the entryway, a huge smile complemented by a blue dress shirt and black slacks.

"Aww, Rick, you shouldn't have dressed up," Jim teased, reaching out to shake his hand. "I look shoddy now."

Rick grinned. "'Shoddy'—nice word. But no, really—this is the only dress shirt I own. I'm far from being able to dress up as well as you, Mr Beckett."

Jim sobered. "Clothes don't hang quite right now," he admitted softly with a shrug. "But as long as I get to see you young lot…"

With that, he turned to Martha, who had let them in at the front door. "I understand you're an actress, Martha? Do you find it enjoyable?" he asked, and the woman stepped forwards, sweeping him away with a sleeve-draped arm and a speech about Broadway which already sounded like it would not end.

Kate walked up to Rick, watching as his smile widened seemingly without his knowledge. "Hi," she greeted shyly.

"Kate," he murmured. His hands at her elbows startled her, but he tugged her into him, pressing a lingering kiss to her cheek. Biting her bottom lip, she gazed over her shoulder to where their parents were thankfully still talking.

"Cool it, tiger," she whispered when he released her. Her skin tingled. "We're not officially _together—_and even if we were, this isn't how I'd want our parents to find out about it."

"I know, but I missed you. I haven't seen you for two weeks," he protested longingly. She giggled. "And I'm glad you came."

"I said I would, didn't I? When you invited me, _a week ago._"

"And shouldn't I be glad you kept your promise?" he countered, obviously choosing to ignore the second part of her statement.

She shook her at his logic. "Don't be a sap, Rick," she warned. "If you're like this now, I'd hate to see how you'll be a few months down the road."

"Maybe just hopelessly, irrevocably entrenched in you," he suggested with wiggling eyebrows, making her heart skip a beat or three, "but for now: Dinner? Mother, Mr Beckett, dinner?"

The two adults answered his call; Kate had to take a few moments alone in the hallway, breathing deeply to calm her wildly beating heart, before she could join them.

-.-.-.-.-

"That was a good dinner," she commented to him hours later.

Night had fallen long ago; Kate and Rick had sequestered themselves in his bedroom after they had sent her dad off first and Martha had retired to her bedroom with much ceremony, and they now lay side by side on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"It was," Rick agreed. "They seemed to get along."

Kate laughed. "It's hard to tell, but if my dad didn't like your mum or vice versa, at least they had the sense to hold their tongue."

"True. I hope it works out."

"Me too."

There was a moment of quiet. Kate took a deep breath; turned her head to gaze at Rick's profile. "My dad probably thinks you're defiling me right now."

"_What?_" Rick sat upright, panicked. "Kate, I thought you said—"

"I know what I said," she dismissed through her laughter. "I just meant, my _dad _probably thinks I'm a virgin."

"Well, why are we having this conversation now?" he squeaked hysterically, clearly not reassured at all. "And should I be sending you home?"

"The thought just occurred to me." She shrugged casually. "And don't worry about that. He doesn't _really _think that—if he did, he would have swept me out of here faster than you could have said 'alakazam'."

Rick huffed and flopped back down onto his pillow. "Don't scare me like that," he scolded. "You wouldn't even let me kiss you, and now you're talking about _sex._"

"It's gonna come up eventually."

"Okay, were the mushrooms I put into your soup hallucinogenic?" he asked.

"No," she sighed in amusement. "I think warm, good food has just made me relaxed."

"Huh."

"That, and…" She hesitated. "We haven't talked about it, not for real."

He scrabbled the sheets in the dark, finding her hand and entwining her fingers with his. "Let's talk now," he said, his voice low enough to reassure her that he knew she did not mean _sex, _but rather _them._ She turned her body so that she was facing him.

"Did you meet any Jacindas … while you were away?" she asked.

"I was only away for a week," he laughed at her, but he must have felt her stiffen, for he squeezed her hand before continuing, "I met Jacinda—_the _Jacinda, that is. But we just said hi and bye."

"Hmm," Kate commented ambiguously. She hated—_hated—_that she was unsure, really, but she could not help the jealousy that pulsed at her heart.

"I never asked you how you felt about it," he said gently, and she shifted with discomfort.

"I told you," she reminded him. "That day…" _That day so many weeks ago when we stopped talking—I told you I was jealous. I told you I didn't have the right to be._

"You did," he conceded, "but I meant _after. _I meant _when I first came back to New York City. _I mean _now._"

"I don't feel anything now."

"Liar," he accused.

"Okay," she capitulated with a sigh. "I'm still insecure, okay?"

"Why?" he pushed.

"Because I've let you into my home," she returned, clenching her jaw to keep tears from filling her eyes. "I've let you meet my _family. _I've shown you my past, and you've shown me yours, and people just don't do that unless they're _serious. _Except we're not 'serious'—we're not even dating, not officially, and that's my own fault, just like it had been with Jacinda."

"So, you think I'm gonna run off with another Jacinda," he surmised, and the pain that sliced through her at that almost surprised her.

"I just—" Her breathe hitched. "I want to be worthy of you."

"Kate." Rick turned quickly to her, throwing an arm firmly around her and pulling her to him. "You are always worthy of me, more so because of this than for any other reason. It tells me that you want to do the right thing, and that's _all _that matters. That's all I care about."

She sniffed. "But I'm not … I'm not wholesome, all-American-girl material."

"That's a stereotype." He nudged her face with his. "You sound so silly saying it. Besides, if anything, _I'm _not worthy of _you._ I wronged you."

"I couldn't have expected you to wait."

"I should have. A better man would have."

"Rick," she sighed.

"Don't," he warned, with an edge to his voice. "Stop putting hurdles in front of me and telling yourself that, 'If Rick crosses this and this, then I'll be with him.' I'd cross every hurdle to be with you, but what you don't realize is that I'd never get to meet you if you didn't step out from behind that last hurdle yourself."

She mulled over his words. "You're right."

"Look, I'm not saying that we have to jump into a relationship right now," he told her, "but stop giving yourself reasons for 'not yet', okay? If it's 'not yet', then it's 'not yet'—there doesn't have to be an intricate and well-thought-out reason for it. You don't have to tell yourself that, 'Rick should fit in as many relationships as he can while I'm making him wait.'"

That, for some reason, made her laugh.

"And I was wrong," he continued, pressing his forehead into her temple, "to go out with Jacinda. We _both _knew it wasn't serious, to be honest—Jacinda and I, I mean. We both knew it wouldn't go anywhere: She didn't even mind the one night I, um, accidentally said a name that wasn't hers. But we wanted to give it a try, and that was wrong when I knew … I had someone else waiting for me."

"Rick—"

"I was young and I was foolish."

"You were the same age you are now, since it was only a few months ago," Kate pointed out.

"True," Rick said, "but I've grown up loads since then. Someone I really cared about needed me."

Kate tilted her head up to meet his eyes. "Thank you," she whispered.

He smiled. "Let's just take it from here, okay?" he requested. "There doesn't have to be a definite before-after point. We could just … be. Hug when we felt like it."

"Steal kisses sometimes?" she suggested, only half kidding.

"Yeah, but maybe not too many. I might really defile you then."

She snorted, tickled. "I'd like that," she said. "The _being _part, I mean, not the defiling part."

"Aww," he exclaimed, disappointed.

"Jerk!" she chastised, before his grin gave away that he was teasing her. Laughing, she added, "But I wouldn't mind … make-out sessions."

"Really?"

At his startled tone and raised eyebrows, she paused; reflecting back on what she had said confused her, too. Theoretically, it sounded like a big deal—but in reality, she founded that her anxiety was not quite as acute anymore.

Somehow … somehow, the vice-like hold that fear and insecurity had around her heart had dissolved. Somehow, she felt freer and braver; excited, almost, to try things out with Rick. So, she nodded shyly, biting back her growing smile.

Rick took immediate advantage of that, leaning in to capture her mouth with his. His lips were soft, warm; she thought he uttered something into her mouth, but she did not catch what he had said.

It hardly mattered, though. The tip of his tongue flicked out to graze her lips, and she suddenly found her blissful mind devoid of all thought, focused only on the sensation that burnt throughout her entire body.

They were finally stepping across the line.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Before we go into this chapter,** maybe it's important for me to mention that Johanna dies in a different way from on the show (as morbid as that sounds). Why, you ask? Because, to me at least, Kate had to be fairly aware of the case in order for it to influence her life _in a particular direction, _but I imagine that stabbing as the cause of Johanna's death would have been more-than-traumatising to Kate at that age. So, I changed the story. What you think of it is up to you, but please be nice.

Enjoy!

**-_Soph_**

* * *

**Chapter 19**

Fireworks crackled in the distance, lighting up the night sky. Kate lounged at her opened bedroom window. Said window faced Prospect Park, Brooklyn's customary New Year's Eve Fireworks spot, which permitted her and her father to sit in her bedroom together to wait for midnight—though their apartment was relatively far from the park, they would still be able to see the colours that would fill the sky.

Jim's health was rapidly deteriorating. Though he had had jaundice for a few weeks now, it was becoming much more easily noticeable; his abdomen, too, swelled alarmingly at times, sapping away his energy and his appetite quickly. Kate often found herself subconsciously looking towards him even if he was right beside her: Wanting to confirm to herself that he was still alive and breathing.

"Pink," Jim commented now, breaking her out of her reverie.

"What?" she asked distractedly.

"Pink," he repeated, nudging his head at the fireworks that were starting to shoot into the night. Apparently, the clock had struck without her noticing. "I'd forgotten there was that colour."

"It's been a long time since we've watched the fireworks."

"Yeah," her father agreed, turning brooding eyes towards her.

"Dad, don't," she interrupted pre-emptively, holding up a hand to stop his words. "Tonight is supposed to be a happy night."

"I just want to talk about mom," he protested, hurt, and Kate turned her face away guiltily.

"I know, but I can't do i-it." Her voice broke. "I can't talk about what happened to her."

"You have to sometime, Katie," In all of a sudden, the direction—if not the subject—of their topic had changed; it made Kate regret not holding her tongue to begin with. Simply listening to her father's stories about Johanna Beckett would have been easier. "You can't just keep this in your heart."

"Why not?" she asked defiantly.

"Because it's gonna eat you up, like it did me." Kate stayed silent for a moment, and Jim continued, "Does Rick know about this?"

"No," she uttered bluntly, "and I don't intend to tell him."

"He deserves to know."

"No more so than I deserve to tell him," she replied.

"What does that mean?"

"People don't like murder, Daddy. It's not something they know how to respond to. And I don't want to chase him away."

"People don't like cancer, either," her dad countered, "but Rick came running to you at first notice. I think you should give him more credit."

Kate sniffled. "It's different. Cancer … cancer induces _support. _Murder induces _horror._"

"Yes," Jim replied patiently, "but if I know Rick—and I'd like to think I do; I've spent _far _too much time these few weeks watching the way he looks at you—any reaction he may have towards either of these things will be overridden by his feelings for—"

"Dad!" Kate cut in again, embarrassed.

"It's pretty obvious, Katie."

She blew out a shaky breath. "Maybe so," she admitted, "but it's not something we've acknowledged out loud. Not by me, I mean, and especially not to you."

"Why especially not to me?"

"Because you're my _dad,_" she emphasized, though it was clear by her father's expression that he was no closer to making sense of her thoughts than he had been the second before. "You're—you're the one important guys are supposed to meet," she explained. "Rick meeting you—that was a fluke. He wouldn't have come if—"

"So, he's not important? Not to you?"

Kate bit into her bottom lip. "He is," she confessed shyly. "But it's just, we're not too … stable, yet, and I don't want to introduce him to you as my … serious boyfriend … until we are."

"_Ahhh, I see,_" her father drawled, grinning from cheek to cheek, which made Kate giggle as she hid her face in the advantageous darkness of her bedroom. Her smile fell slightly when her dad added, "You should still tell him, Katie."

"Dad…"

"Your old man's not blind, Katie. You may like to pretend it's not serious, but it is, and we both know that you hated keeping secrets from those important to you." He gave her a bittersweet smile. "You used to trust me, remember?"

Kate felt her throat close up. "I still trust you," she rasped.

"Maybe," her father allowed kindly, "but you trust Rick more—with your secrets, at least. With your troubles."

"Does that bother you?" she asked, her voice wavering. "I'm sorry."

"Nah." He waved a hand. "I was never gonna be your king forever, anyway; I acknowledged that long before you stopped being my little girl. You were always so independent—you always needed someone to be your equal. You've met your equal. That's what I meant to say."

"Oh," she laughed, "he far surpasses me."

"Only in how much he's willing to open up to you what you won't open up to him," her father teased in return. He lifted her cell phone from the tiny glass table they had set between them earlier for chips and drinks; pressed the device into her waiting palm and shot her a reassuring smile. "Go call him. _I _am going back to bed, now that the fireworks are over; you can tell me in the morning how the call went."

With a yawn—probably more for theatrics, Kate thought, than out of actuality—Jim stood, stretching his limbs before he walked to her bedroom door. "Goodnight, Katie-Tatie," he chirped, shutting the door behind him as he left the room.

Kate rolled her eyes. _Oh,_ he might be ill, but he could still tease her if he wanted to.

Dialling the number she knew by heart, she pressed the phone to her ear. "Hey, Rick," she greeted softly when he answered, "Happy New Year."

"_My beautiful, magnificent Athena!_" he gasped.

She snorted, wondering whether Rick and her father had been spending too much time with each other. "I have something to tell you," she continued before he could wax any more poetic about her. "I know it's probably bad luck, telling you on New Year's Day like this—at half past midnight, no less—but … I'm ready to tell you about my mom."

-.-.-.-.-

"January 9th, 1999." Kate swallows to keep the lump forming in her throat from overwhelming her. "Johanna Beckett crosses a street after leaving her office. It's a clear night—the moon's out. The streets are dry and quiet. Johanna's parked quite a ways from her office, because during work hours, parking is a bitch—takes forever to find—and Johanna would rather not wrestle with that atrocity, so she always parks a few blocks from her office building. That night, she's crossing the street when a car's engine roars suddenly. She turns towards the sound; suddenly, a pair of headlights is weaving towards her, and she's hit before she knows it.

"The murderer is caught a few weeks later," Kate hiccupped, praying he had not heard the hitch in her voice. "I don't know the specifics of it—they never bothered to tell _me—_but a year after her death, while drunk, Dad admitted the detectives thought the guy had been waiting for her. Except: _I _know for a fact that the guy got off on vehicular manslaughter in court, and even then, I wasn't stupid enough to believe that lying-in-wait was the same as manslaughter. I was the daughter of _lawyers, _for God's sake. So, I know, _I know, _something went wrong in court. Someone must have paid someone off or, at least, gotten a very good lawyer to argue their case. At any rate … in the end, I was left motherless and the guy probably had a prison sentence that lasted fewer years than my dad's alcohol addiction."

"Oh, Kate," Rick murmured, just like he had on the afternoon she had told him about her father's past.

"Don't pity me," she said fiercely, even if the firmness was shattered by the break in her voice.

"I don't," he answered, but then he went quiet.

"You think I'm insane, don't you?" she whimpered, loathing herself for the hysteria she knew was in her voice. "You think I've lost my mind; it was probably just some stupid drunk driver—a dumb kid out on a learner's permit that had come a few years too early or too late, depending on how you looked at it—and I'm just looking for excuses to keep on my self-destructive path; to keep working at whatever I'm doing until I can rework the entire justice system, don't you?"

"I think … that's your plan," he answered carefully, "but it's not because you're insane. I think it's because you fight for the truth—and this, here, is not the truth."

"I just don't want it to happen again," she cried. "I don't want some other kid who's lost her mother to watch her mother's murderer walk out with a minimal sentence."

"I know," Rick soothed. "I know, Kate, I know."

"Rick—" At the break in her voice, Kate stopped herself; tossed the phone aside without bothering to terminate the call and bit into her own forearm as she curled herself inwards, determined not to let her sobs escape to a point where they would be audible to the man on the other end of the line—if he were still there.

She would not ask for him.

She knew he would come, if she asked, because he was not of the personality to walk away from someone else's distress, but she _would not _expose this side of herself to him; this side so raw and broken and ugly, so damaged that he would have done better to walk away from her at first instance.

What was she thinking?

How could she have thought to drag him into the downward spiral with her?

There would be no resolution to her mother's murder; no end point where, short of turning into a murderer herself, she could walk away and say 'It's done' and just move on with her life. There was never meant to be a happily-ever-after for her. How could she have thought _any _point of her life to be perfect for a relationship, when the walls she had constructed so high around her were designed so she could carry them to her grave along with her life's failings towards her mother?

The slamming open of her bedroom door startled her; she looked up through her tears, her heart pounding, to find—to her astonishment—the silhouette of Rick. His hair was messy and his breathing was heavy, making her panic irrationally that he was _angry _at her. He flew across the room, and she flinched, but found herself wrapped so tightly in his arms that she hardly dared to believe it.

"R-Rick?" she stuttered uncertainly.

"I'm sorry," he panted without loosening his hold. "I'm sorry. I had to listen to you cry for twenty-five minutes and I couldn't do anything, Kate." Oh. Had it been that long?

"Your dad let me in," he explained unnecessarily. "You wouldn't pick up."

Kate looked up to find the anxious figure of her father lurking in the doorway. At her glance, he gave her a grim smile and walked out, giving her and Rick some privacy.

"I dropped my phone," she lied, patting her boyfriend weakly on her arm. (He was still her boyfriend … right?) "I'm okay."

"Like _hell _you are," he growled, and her heart rate ratcheted again.

"Rick—"

"I'm sorry," he sighed once more before she could say anything. "I just—I don't really know whether I'm hugging you for _you _or for me, but I … need you to know that I'm not walking away."

"Oh," she gasped, relief flooding her. "Oh, Rick."

"Don't let go," he said sternly. "We've come too far for you to let go."

Tears flooded her eyes once more; she could not possibly find the words to express how much his words calmed her and kept her steady. So, she held her tongue and instead lifted her own arms to wrap them around him. He crushed her to him even more tightly—she dropped her face to his shoulder and relaxed herself into his embrace.

Her heart still ached, shredded to pieces by the recounting of Johanna's murder, but she felt _present _for once and not like she had been swept away by the bloody darkness that marred her past.

Rick grounded her—kept her from drowning—he truly did. She could see that now.

And it made her think that maybe—just maybe—having him by her side, fighting her demons with her, would be worth it.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Morning sunlight crept slowly into the room, at first lighting up the hardwood floor and then casting the plain walls with a golden glow. Kate awoke when the brightening rays hit her eyes. She registered two things: One, that Rick was asleep beside her with one arm around her and his face mashed weirdly into the backrest of her living room couch; two, that her father stood before them, both arms akimbo and with lips pressed together.

She sat up abruptly and simultaneously nudged her elbow into her boyfriend's ribs. Rick jolted awake with an indignant murmur that stopped the moment he spotted Kate's father.

"Mr Beckett," he greeted awkwardly. "Uh, hi."

"Hi," Jim drawled, making Rick wince.

"I mean, I'd … best be going?" the boy hazarded a guess.

Jim chortled mirthfully at that. "No need," he replied. "I'm just messing with you two. I just want you both to know that breakfast is on the counter."

Kate glanced over to the kitchen counter where, predictably, a box of cereal and two bowls stood. "Tell me you ate, Dad."

Her father shrugged. "I wasn't very hungry," he answered, before trudging off towards his bedroom. Kate watched him go.

After her meltdown the previous night, Kate and Rick had sat in the living room with her father for hours. There had been no conversation; no sympathies or platitudes offered from whichever one person to the others. They had just _been—_three people staring into the night, two remembering the past and one coming to terms with it.

At some point, Jim had retired to his bedroom, but Kate had stayed on the couch—obviously until she had fallen asleep. She wondered at what point _Rick _had fallen asleep. She could not remember ever having cast a glance at him after leaving her bedroom; misery loved loneliness, so while she had permitted Rick to stay and anchor her to real life, she had not been able to bring herself to have a thorough discussion of how she felt about her mother's death with him. (Not yet.)

She realized now, in the light of morning, that she had never asked her father how he felt about walking in on the shattered pieces of his daughter on the carpet. Undoubtedly, he must have heard her crying, but yet hesitated to interrupt such a private moment. She never asked him how he felt about Rick comforting her, either. She wondered if he felt ousted—she hoped not. Rick was … wonderful, but he had not gone through the tragedy together with them, and that made him an outsider. She only hoped her father would not see it in a bad way.

With that thought in mind, she stood from the couch and turned to Rick. "I'm gonna talk to my dad," she told him. "Could you have some breakfast while you wait?"

"Sure," he replied easily, "but aren't you going to have breakfast?"

"When I'm done," she promised him. She turned on her heels; strode quickly across the small apartment and into her father's bedroom. She clicked the door shut and said softly, "Hey, Dad."

The man in question was already seated in bed, back against the headboard and legs under the covers, with a book in his lap and reading glasses perched lowly on his nose. At Kate's address, he shut the book and pushed his glasses up. "Katie?" he questioned.

"I want to talk to you."

He blinked, clearly surprised, but patted the covers beside him. "Sure."

Kate crossed the room and clambered onto the bed, sitting Indian-style. She cleared her throat. "I…" she said haltingly. "About last night…"

"Katie." Her father sighed. "I'm sorry. It was my fault. I thought you were ready."

"No, no," she said, hastening to alleviate his guilt. "It was not your fault. It was—I had just never told anyone _else _before."

"Really?" her father inquired concernedly. "No one? Not even Lanie?"

"Not even Lanie. She knows my mother was … murdered, but she doesn't know the specifics."

A pained look crossed his face. "What about your school counsellors?"

"No," she answered simply. "Teenagers don't tend to talk about personal things, Dad. Plus, they had like 100 students to one counsellor. Or something like that. I—A bombshell like mine … they couldn't have been trained for it."

"You could have tried," her father chided gently.

"Maybe," she acknowledged, "but that's bygones. Let's leave it bygones, okay?"

"Okay."

"I'm just here to tell you … that I didn't mean for you to see me _like that _last night."

"I know you didn't. No one would _mean _to let someone else see them in so much pain."

"I would have answered the door if I'd heard it," Kate pleaded.

Jim smiled forgivingly. "I know. I know Rick would've been out of here before dawn if I had not been the one to let him in last night, as well, and you would've tried to hide the evidence that you'd needed your boyfriend for a few cuddles in the middle of the night."

Kate burst into an embarrassed, self-conscious laugh. "Nothing happened."

Jim raised his eyebrows. "I know. I was there, remember? Besides, I never have to worry about Rick's intentions toward you. He's made them pretty clear."

Kate felt her cheeks flush. "Aww, Dad. I just—I just wanted to make sure you didn't feel like Rick had usurped your position."

"As what?" Jim countered boldly and immediately, catching her off-guard. Clearly, her father had already foreseen her bringing the topic up. "Katie, if you'd told me that he'd come to you last night and I hadn't seen it myself, I wouldn't have believed you. That man literally drops _everything _to be with you when you need him. I am not going to begrudge you that, Katie, even if I miss the days I could chase away the monsters under your bed."

She smiled in response. "I miss those days, too," she confessed.

"But those days are long gone," Jim continued sombrely, "and if I had to pick someone to 'usurp my position'—not that I'm saying he _is—_I would gladly pick Rick."

Kate peered up at her father through her lashes. "Really?"

"Yeah," he concluded. "And yes, Katie, that is a subtle hint at lettin' you know where I stand."

"Oh." She sucked in a huge breath. (Okay. That was a lot of information to digest. _Wow._)

"Yeah," her father said.

"Anyway, about last night…" she persisted, changing the topic back.

"It's fine," her father reassured her again. "I'm fine, I promise. I just … didn't expect to see that."

"I'd like to be able to talk about her, Dad," Kate blurted abruptly, feeling the need to get everything off her chest overwhelm her. "I'd like to be able to talk about her life and her death; with you, with Rick, with whoever matters. I'd like to be able to celebrate her."

Jim studied Kate intently. Finally, he leant over to his bedside table; opened the sole drawer in the wooden stand and reached in to grab something Kate could not see. When he re-emerged, he opened his hand to show Kate the single glittering item on his palm.

It was her mother's wedding ring.

"Dad?" she asked, her heart in her mouth.

"I've been meaning to give you this," her father told her seriously. "It was your mother's wedding ring. I've wanted to give it to you ever since—… but you were so young back then, and I was afraid you'd lose it. You're older now. I could give the ring to Rick, but I _really _doubt you'd appreciate the sentiment of being proposed to with your mother's wedding ring."

"Dad! I'm twenty! I'm not being proposed to either way, and _ohmygod _can we please stop going there?"

"So, I'm giving it to you," her father continued with a cheeky smile. "Keep it safe, okay? I don't have much of her left, and…" He swallowed; sat up to place the ring in her palm. "She would have wanted you to have it."

"I will," Kate promised. She blinked her eyes to keep away her own tears and closed her fist over the ring. "I will."

She would find a way to keep it safe. On a chain, perhaps, on her neck; simultaneously a keepsake and a treasured memory.

"Good," her father continued. He reached towards his bedside table for a second time, this time picking up a watch. He presented it to her as well, saying, "This is also for you. It's … the watch your mother helped you pick out for me for my birthday; I don't know if you remember that. But here it is—it's for you, as a keepsake."

"Dad," she murmured, "you're not—not—I can't take this right now."

"I need to give it to you right now," her father said stubbornly. "You heard Mindy, the nurse. Fevers. Hallucination. Coma, eventually. I don't wanna wait till then. I want to be able to give it to you while I still can."

"Okay," Kate murmured thickly, taking the watch from her dad. It felt so morbid, but things were what they were, and she would not defy one of his last wishes. She brushed a finger across the glass that covered the delicate watch-face—it had been so long ago that she had given her father the time piece. She never even knew he still had it.

"I wanted to give it to you a long time ago," her father told her quietly. "I wanted to tell you that I was sorry for what I had done and that I was working on getting better, and that you could give it back to me when I was better. But you were so angry then—I didn't think you would keep it if I were to give it to you, and I couldn't bear to see your last gift to me gone forever. So, I kept the watch."

"I'm sorry," Kate choked out. "I would have kept it. I'm sorry."

"I brought this on myself," Jim answered morosely. "If I have but one regret, it would be not spending more time with you."

"You had a lot to deal with," she whispered.

"I did," Jim acknowledged. "But so did you. Please … forgive me, Katie."

Kate blinked her tears away and sucked in a deep breath. Instead of verbally replying, she glanced up at her father for his permission; at his nod, she slipped the watch onto her left wrist and clicked the clasp into place. The watch was clunky and loose against her slimness, but she would not have it another way. She looked up just in time to see her father's relieved look. He gave her a nod and squeezed her hand—neither one of them adept at voicing their emotions, she took it to be the gratitude it was and nodded back in return.

_I forgive you._

And then Jim was urging, in a raspy voice, "Now, get out there. Rick's waiting for you," and Kate knew he wanted to be left alone with his thoughts.

She got off the bed and moved to the other side to give him a tight hug. It served only to show her how skinny he had since become, but it made her heart clench and ache when he did not hesitate to sling a bony arm over her. "I love you, Dad," she told him, her voice husky with tears.

"I love you, too, Katie," he answered, his own the same.


End file.
